


Compass

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers Tower, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotionally Repressed Men, Feelings Realization, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Growing feelings, Happy Ending, M/M, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Pining Steve, Steve is an Emotional Cryptid, Tony POV, sex then feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:41:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29153736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: Less than a year ago Tony’s biggest problem with Steve was figuring out how they could coexist in the same team without throttling each other.NowTony’s biggest problem with Steve is making sure that the guy doesn’t fall in love with him.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 177
Kudos: 750
Collections: Marvel Trumps Hate 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [talesofsuspense](https://archiveofourown.org/users/talesofsuspense/gifts).



> This was written for talesofsuspense as part of [Marvel Trumps Hate](https://marveltrumpshate.tumblr.com/) 2020! (I hope you like!) Further details of the prompt are at the end of the fic.
> 
> Also thanks to flyingcatstiel for looking this over, all remaining mistakes are my own, feel free to let me know about them in the comments or via [my tumblr](https://no-gorms.tumblr.com/ask).

As Tony lies on the ground, immobile in his Iron Man suit, he reflects on how he’s apparently managed to learn some things about Steve.

“ _Stark_ ,” Steve is saying into Tony’s earpiece. “ _If you’re having a snit, you can save the energy._ ”

In the earlier days, if Tony got caught in a dire situation (such as the one that he’s currently in) he’d reply to Steve on comms something like: _I’ve got this handled_ or _Fuck you Steve I know what I’m doing_ or, worst of all, _Get out, don’t waste your time_. That last one in particular would have the sole effect of pissing Steve off, because even if there’s the tiniest, most miniscule chance to help, Steve would take that chance with a mighty jaw-clench of stubbornness.

See, all these months of living in the Tower with the Avengers haven’t gone to waste. Tony does know how to shut up sometimes.

It belatedly occurs to Tony that he could have just lied, and said something about how the energy blast didn’t take, or it bounced off the suit because his security measures are advanced enough to withstand alien technology. He could’ve gone the distance and said that he’s fine, and is making his way out of the tunnels to the exit point as he’s supposed to be doing right now.

“ _Silent treatment now, is it?_ ” Steve says.

Tony makes a face inside the helmet. With the HUD dead, he’s keeping his eyes closed as much as he can, which is part and parcel of his fervent attempt to ignore the literal physicality of lying in what’s effectively a human-shaped shipping container.

“ _JARVIS says your comms and oxygen supply are still up, so I know you can hear me_ ,” Steve says. “ _He’s giving me directions on how to get to you._ ”

Tony opens his mouth. The oxygen may be working but it’s at the lower pressure of emergency functionality, which means that his warm breath blows back against his face. The sensation distracts him, making Tony forget what he was about to say.

“ _If I get buried alive in here with you, do you think we’ll haunt this place together for eternity_?”

“Aren’t you supposed to make this situation _less_ terrifying, Captain Asshole?” Tony exclaims.

“ _Ah, he lives_.”

Tony rolls his eyes in the darkness of the helmet. “Citation needed.”

“ _Don’t worry, I’m sure the others have found a way to stop the dam breaking_.”

“You’re so sure about that that you’re just walking, right? You’re not running, right?”

“ _I have a visual on you_.”

If Tony weren’t locked into place in the suit, he’d start in surprise. He’d come down to the turbines by himself, and he’s pretty sure that Steve was in the control room a couple of minutes ago. Unless Tony’s sense of time is warped since the suit blackout, which is also possible.

“ _I’m going to drag you._ ” Steve’s voice has a murky echo – the real voice outside the suit coming just slightly faster than the voice in Tony’s earpiece. Tony’s right leg is lifted, and he feels himself being tugged along in a start-stop motion. He pictures Steve holding said leg up with both hands, and each start-stop following a heave of his lungs.

“Sorry for not pulling my weight,” Tony says.

“ _I’ll put that on your next performance review_.”

“Wait, we get reviewed? Shit, I’m in trouble.”

It’s too slow. Tony doesn’t have his readouts but he knows there’s no way Steve can get him to the maintenance elevator in time. If Thor was here, he could help out, but he has to be busy dealing with the greater problem of the dam itself.

“Steve—”

“ _It’s like dragging a sack of potatoes. Or one really large potato made out of metal._ ”

Tony barks a completely unintended laugh, and then scowls at himself for doing it. How just like Steve to find brand new ways of being irritating. “Steve.”

“ _It’s only a couple of yards._ ”

“Steve! Maybe you could break the suit.”

They stop moving. “ _What_?”

“Break the suit. There’s an interlocking fold—” Tony pauses, simplifying. “There are key points low on the ribs. Break them, then peel me open like an orange. Or a potato, I guess, since you’re more into that.”

“ _With the shield_?”

“Yeah.”

“ _I could hurt you_.”

“Buddy, if you’re only going to complain now—”

“ _Fine, where? JARVIS, show me_.”

There are a few ways that this could go wrong, because though Steve’s handling of the shield is superhumanly precise, there’s still that margin of error. Too much force, or using an angle that’s too steep, and whoops, Tony would be in a world of pain. Honestly, Tony would rather shove the vibranium shield onto a clamp and slam himself on it, but needs must.

“ _Do you want to count to three_?” Steve says.

Tony swallows. It’s hard to brace himself in the suit. “Okay. Okay. One—”

The shield strikes with an almighty clang.

“You dick!” Tony shouts. “You asshole, I’m gonna come out there and kick your ass and… Wait, wait, Steve, something’s wrong.”

The pressure at Tony’s side eases up. “ _What is it_?”

“The catches, they’re not releasing the way they’re supposed to. You’re going to have to tap it again.”

“ _I can see your shirt, it’s too close to your body_.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Tony says through gritted teeth, his cold sweat worsening at the idea of the shield landing closer to the arc reactor, “but some parts must’ve fused together, so you’re going to have to do it again but higher up. C’mon… Steve?” There’s a different groan of metal down below, followed by a wrenching pressure that almost turns Tony onto his side. “Steve, what are you… Are you wrenching the suit open with your bare fucking hands?”

“ _Tell me if anything hurts_.”

“Steve, I know it might be asking for much but can you please not be an idiot this once and—”

The suit opens, awkwardly and with great resistance. More than once Tony thinks a sharp edge is going to suddenly turn into his skin, but Steve, no matter that he _can’t_ know exactly what he’s doing… seems to know what he’s doing. Pieces of the armor bend (bend!) and are removed, until a catch higher up distinctly clicks free and the rest of it peels all the up to the faceplate.

Tony gasps, his mouth wide open in gulping fresh air. His eyes take a few seconds to focus in the light, and by the time they do, Steve’s already got the rest of the suit open. Steve’s grip on Tony’s arm is strong as he hauls Tony upright.

“You’re just lucky you’re not picking my spleen off your shield,” Tony says. He registers that Steve’s pressed a finger and thumb in a solid hold at the base of Tony’s neck, which helps him stay upright without swaying. Tony could be annoyed, but he’s too busy trying to quash down the nausea.

“Can you run?” Steve quickly checks him over before turning for the exit. Without the suit muffling all noise, the distant rumbling Tony noticed before the blast hit him is now, very distinctly, a warning of the building’s imminent collapse. “Thor’s kind of—”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go.”

It’s less a run, and more a brisk jog to the exit. It’s while they’re legging it that Tony glances sideways and sees the flash of red where there shouldn’t be any. “Steve, your hands.”

“Yes, I have two.”

“You’re not – the suit cut right through your gloves? You can’t hold on to a line with your hands like that! What the hell is wrong with you?”

A mix of adrenaline and pique has Tony grabbing at his own sleeve, tearing the long material free with a rip that is sadly far less dramatic than Steve’s cracking the suit open. Tony tears the sleeves into two long pieces, and once they reach the exit shaft uses the pause to grab at Steve’s torn hands, wrapping them in a rudimentary bandage wrap. Steve, meanwhile, just lets him do it, almost befuddled.

“Not ideal, but okay let’s go,” Tony says.

“All right.” Steve quickly checks the exit route and zipline, and opens his arm. Tony steps into it, following a vague memory of seeing Natasha do the same countless times – where the hell does she usually put her hands? Tony manages to get one arm around Steve’s shoulder but Steve’s already moving, his free hand coming round to hold firmly onto Tony’s back, their chests pressed together. Tony feels his feet leave the ground, easy as anything, as Steve steps into the shaft.

Any other time, Tony would probably say something at this point. _People usually buy me dinner first_ , or the like. But he’s too tense for it, his whole body drawn tight like a plucked string ready to snap.

Tony’s not so much a fan of being rescued, unless it’s Rhodey. When in the suit, he’s one of the team’s hard-hitters, and more often than not the one (aside from Thor) who swoops in out of nowhere at the last minute for the save. Frankly he would’ve been annoyed if it were _any_ of the Avengers hauling his ass right now, though Tony can admit that Steve at least stings less than Clint.

The pit of discomfort in Tony’s stomach curdles and thickens the whole way out, until they’ve made it back to the Quinjet, which takes off in a low hover over the still-rumbling building.

Tony sits down in a free seat, suitless and sweaty, and now aware that the discomfort is actually disappointment. Risks may be the Avengers’ lifeblood but he’d made a mistake; he’d assumed and underestimated when he should have fucking known better. If it had been any of the others who’d done what he did, he would’ve yelled at them, or worse, made fun of them. If he’d died down there, he would’ve deserved it.

“Tony,” Steve says.

Tony looks up. His stomach swoops when he sees that Steve’s still wearing the makeshift bandages – stained dark now – as though he’d forgotten that they’re there.

“We need controlled explosion scenarios,” Steve says. “Thor and Bruce managed to control the flow but it’s a stopgap. Can you get something quick?”

“Sure.” Tony shakes his head to clear it and stands up. “Right, yeah, I can do that.”

There’s the laptop at the back, which is usually commandeered by Bruce when he’s not Code Green for away machines. Tony gets up to fetch it, while the others continue what seems to be an argument on whether SHIELD will arrive in time or not.

“As soon as you can, Tony,” Steve says. “They need something to work with before all hell breaks loose.”

“I know I work well under the wire, but come on.”

Bruce appears by Tony’s shoulder, peering at the screen. “Don’t you have the models we did earlier, with the—”

“Yeah, I got them,” Tony drawls, “but that was _without_ factoring a goddamned alien power source inside, right.”

“But we know it’s defensive,” Bruce says. “Its absorption radius is minimal and – oh okay, I see, you got it.”

“We’re down to three,” Tony says, “and someone who is not JARVIS better check my work.”

“ETA two minutes,” Natasha says from the pilot’s seat.

“Send it,” Steve says. “It’ll be more than what they have.”

Tony tosses the data in a motion to the outbox. He leans back in an exhale, and then stands up to join the others in watching the hellicarrier come in for the assist. The much-smaller figure of Thor soars across to flank them, providing an assist for the assist.

On the minus side: Tony’s lost another suit, and they didn’t recover the artifact they hoped to get. On the plus side: they stopped another. The mission could tentatively be called neutral-to-success.

Even so, Steve nods at the controlled fall of debris, which prevents the rest of the contaminated water from pouring downstream. “That’ll do it,” he says, low and satisfied.

Tony looks at his hands. They felt cold and clammy earlier, and whether that was only in his mind or not, they feel okay now. Steady. He messed up one thing, but got something else done right. Sure, he should’ve already been working on that second thing before Steve told him to, but at least it’s done, and it seems that Tony’s not going to be flying home with a lead weight in his stomach.

An image pops into Tony’s head, of one of those old Captain America reels he used to sneak out from Howard’s collection to watch as a kid. _Yay for Captain America_ , the title card read. _If he’s on your team, he makes you feel a hundred feet tall!_

Steve did it on purpose, of course: by giving Tony an immediate task to focus on, he wouldn’t get lost in his own head, where the vultures of his thoughts circle his momentary stupidity. But just because Tony knows how the magic trick worked, does it negate its overall effect? Tony snorts at himself.

“What?” Steve says.

“Just thinking about how you’re going to get me a new E Street Band shirt,” Tony says. “Black. Or grey, that’s fine, too.”

Steve hums. “Long sleeves?”

“Yep.”

“Great, that’s your Christmas present covered.”

“Hey,” Tony protests, but Steve just shrugs and turns back to the front, where Natasha is bringing the Quinjet in approach to the Tower. Tony feels himself relax.

Just like that, it’s done, case closed – they both did what they had to do, and there’s no blame to go around. It’s better than any awkward ‘thank you’ that Tony could’ve mustered up.

* * *

After the team’s injuries are dealt with, the official debrief takes place in the conference room. It’s pretty pedestrian, with no voices raised at all aside from Thor’s self-directed recriminations. By the time it’s done, Tony already has half a dozen ideas rattling on how to revamp his next suit’s redundancies, and the workshop calls.

An _unofficial_ debrief of sorts takes place the next day, late in the evening. Some of the others ate together, but Tony took his dinner in the workshop, and has only come down to the common area to satiate his hankering for dessert.

It’s at this time that he sees Steve sitting by himself in front of the TV. Steve’s not even fully watching it, what with his eyes shifting from the screen to the magazine he has open in front of him, some glossy periodical that Tony doesn’t immediately recognize.

There’s nothing urgent that compels Tony to approach Steve. The draw is almost subliminal; it’s only when Tony sits on the couch, the pavlova in his hands half-eaten, that he realizes he’d come because he saw Steve’s hands flipping the magazine from a distance.

Steve’s hands, which are now fully-healed, with not even pink lines to mark the places where Tony’s suit hurt him.

For a minute – or a few minutes, it’s hard to tell – no one says anything. They’re not ignoring each other; they’re consciously existing in each other’s immediate vicinity without the impulse to make something of it. If socializing were color-coded, this would be light gray, i.e. neutral and boring, but not uncomfortable.

They have loads of moments like this, the more so as time went by and the Tower got more lived in. Something about how they’re making up for their immediate impulses when they first met – fangs out, biting hard. Not that they’ve ever talked about it outright. But considering what strong personalities they have, it _is_ an accomplishment to be able to just… be, around each other, without dreading that something was about to go wrong.

Tony can admit that he likes it. It’s not an _active_ like, in the sense that he’d seek it out, but a passive like, in that he appreciates that it’s there, and that it can exist. It’s different from his quiet moments with Rhodey and Bruce, which are effectively warm blankets and lovingly taken for granted as extensions of those friendships. Steve is different – he is what happens when two first impressions (a child’s and a defensive adult’s) get proven erroneous in the most galling, annoying, delightful way.

Steve peeled Tony’s suit open with his bare hands. He didn’t hesitate, and made no sign that he even noticed what it’d done. Probably the only people who know about it, and will remember it, are Tony, Steve and Helen; except there’s only a 30-70 chance that Steve let Helen even look at his hands yesterday, and Steve seems the sort where that kind of injury barely even registers.

It seems unfair, somehow.

It’s good that Steve heals quickly in general, Tony’s still unsettled by the clean, smooth stretch of skin from wrist to fingertips, as though they don’t belong to a man who’d wrench open a gold-titanium alloy suit of armor as though his hands are as disposable as said suit. Maybe there’s a straight line that can be drawn from this to Steve’s occasionally overwrought punching bag hobby, which is usually none of Tony’s business except for when it affects his teams’ equipment budget.

“You’re frowning,” Steve says, though from his face it looks as though his attention is still evenly split between the magazine and the TV. “What is it now?”

“Just thinking about dumb things people do.”

“And by people, you mean me?”

“Sometimes. Did you even let Cho clean your hands yesterday?”

“I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself.”

Tony sighs. It’s a good, judgmental sigh, which can only have been made by someone who’s learned it from Steve.

“They weren’t that deep.” Steve opens a palm, showing his well-defined lifeline across taut skin. No marks anywhere. “Why are you bothered?”

“Don’t know. Maybe ‘cause it was my suit that did it.”

“Well, since that suit is buried under rubble and water, it’s more than paid the price for it.” Steve turns towards Tony a little, a corner of his mouth lifted because he is not a man who’s above laughing at his own jokes. He sobers a little when Tony doesn’t respond. “Really, it’s okay, it’s no big deal.”

“I know it’s no big deal.” Tony finishes the last of his pavlova and takes Steve’s still-open hand, so to press a thumb along the line where a deep gash existed yesterday. He presses hard, but there’s nothing, no pressure of still-knitting muscle, no wince from Steve. In fact, Steve doesn’t resist at all as Tony turns his hand over, the easier to trace the just-visible veins on the back.

“You know,” Steve says thoughtfully, “it’s less disturbing when you yell at me instead.”

“Right back atcha.” Tony meets Steve’s eye, and realizes that he’d moved closer somewhere in the past minute or so, bringing their knees to press together. “Must be convenient to be able to heal up so quickly.”

“Sure, ‘convenient’ is a word I could use for it.”

“But annoying at other times, I’d bet. Sometimes you’d want it to linger.”

Steve hums. “Like the burn after a good workout?”

“Or a well-aimed punch at someone who deserved it. Or sex.”

“I’ll take your word for that last one.”

It occurs to Tony just then the tableau that they make. Tony’s still holding onto Steve’s hand, the TV’s on but the volume is down, Steve’s magazine is set aside, and their bodies are turned towards each other on the couch. The absence of anyone else in the immediate area adds to this feeling, creating the illusion that this moment was deliberately meant to be a private one, instead of incidental. The only thing really lacking is the mood lighting, really.

“I’m not hitting on you,” Tony says.

“I didn’t think you were,” Steve replies wryly.

Now _that_ rankles, for some reason. “I could’ve been,” Tony says, almost defensively.

There’s a half-second where the gears turn behind Steve’s eyes, as he decides if he can push back, and if Tony would welcome it. Tony recognizes this because he does it around Steve, too, because heaven knows that Steve isn’t as easy to read as people tend to assume he is, and most of the time Tony prefers to push other people’s hot buttons on purpose, instead of accidentally.

“You’d be smoother about it,” Steve says.

“You don’t know that. You haven’t seen me work for it. I can be awkward as fuck.”

“Around me?” Steve even laughs as he says it, and Tony smiles before he can stop himself. “No, I don’t think so.”

“I could be! You’re very intimidating!”

“You’ve never, not for one second, ever been intimidated by me.”

“No, _no_ ,” Tony says, drawing it out as he tries to pull a convenient incident to prove his case. “Just give me a sec, I can think of – oh shut up.”

“There we go.” Steve shakes his head, his smile fond. “I can be dense, but I usually notice when someone’s making a pass at me.”

“You’re not dense, don’t say that.” Tony’s eyes are abruptly drawn to the long stretch of Steve’s neck, the muscle taut when he turns to prevent his magazine from getting crumpled. “I’d put a hickey there. Right there. Perfect spot.”

Steve startles, and it takes Tony a second to realize that it’s because he’s put his thumb on the exact spot. Just above and slightly to the left of Steve’s clavicle.

“How long would that last, you think?” Tony says. “An hour? Half an hour?”

“I… have no idea.” Steve sounds as though he doesn’t have a clue what Tony’s going to do next, and where previously that would make him wary, nowadays it just makes him curious. He’s definitely curious right now, and when he meets Tony’s eye, there’s a slight furl between his eyebrows. Brainstorming in the Avengers Tower does go on strange tangents sometimes. “Do you mean to find out?”

Though he’s still pretty sure that he _isn’t_ hitting on Steve, Tony says, “You mind?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Steve replies.

Tony moves on the couch, shifting closer against Steve’s side. Around them there’s an air of experimentation, but not heat, because there’s nothing seductive in the way Tony leans in towards Steve like the vampire he’s dressed up once or twice, and presses his mouth to Steve’s neck. If he _did_ mean to make this sexy, he’d have taken it slowly, touched Steve’s arm or chest, or just plain lingered. But as it is, he just gets down to sucking faintly at the smooth, somewhat dry skin, coaxing it with his mouth.

Some part of Tony’s brain thinks that this should feel more surreal than it is. But Steve’s just sitting there letting him do it, and is not reacting to it in any way, positive or negative. That keeps Tony going, suckling and nibbling until there’s a nice bluish bruise. He leans back to observe it.

“Voila,” Tony says.

Steve tries to look down at himself. He can’t see it, of course, so he takes out his phone to use the camera.

“Oh, that’s quick,” Steve says, surprised. “I thought it’d take longer. Or is that just me?”

“No, it’s usually that fast, yeah.”

“Huh.” Steve, still holding the camera up to study himself, raises a hand to his neck. He rolls a thumb inquisitively over the bruise, where Tony’s mouth was just a few seconds ago. It’s _that_ motion, for some reason, that has Tony abruptly aware of the suggestiveness of the moment, and of what they’re doing.

Heat flickers inside Tony. He blinks, and Steve is suddenly six foot plus of ridiculously, superhumanly attractive male, which is what Steve may have always been but Tony had thought himself desensitized to. Before Tony can school his features, Steve looks at him, and does a little double-take at whatever he sees.

It's not a bad double-take, because Steve doesn’t turn away. Instead, he holds Tony’s gaze thoughtfully, and then slowly drags his thumb one more time across the bruise. The movement is deliberate and lingering, as though to make up for Tony’s perfunctory kissing of that bruise into existence.

It makes Tony rather lightheaded.

“I, uh,” Tony says. “I find myself in a situation of my own making, yet have no idea how… what?”

Steve smiles, in that neat little asymmetrical draw of his lips that never made it into the old newsreels. “That doesn’t sound too different from how I usually feel around you.”

“You know,” Tony continues, his mouth running off without him, “when I invited all of you into the Tower I figured that there was a more-than-zero chance I’d sleep with one of you? I mean, that’s because it’s _me_ , and I like sex. Or I used to? I’m not even sure about that anymore, but I do remember enjoying it.”

Steve studies Tony for a long moment. “I have to check – are you still _not_ making a pass at me?”

“Beats me. Wait, do you want me to?”

“I wouldn’t mind? I think.” Steve frowns. “Wait, that sounds bad.”

“Yeah, everything about this feels like tumbling out of clown car.” They sit there in silence, considering each other. Tony’s still confused, but also still kind of feeling it, especially when he looks past Steve’s chiseled jaw and sees the glisten of his own saliva on Steve’s neck. “Do you want to come up to my room right now?”

“Yeah,” Steve says bluntly. There’s nothing sexy about that response at all, and Steve seems to realize it because he ducks his head sheepishly. But he then shakes his head – the gesture meant more for himself than for Tony – and turns fully towards Tony, his hands reaching out to cup Tony’s face.

“Oh, okay,” Tony says, though he closes his eyes when Steve kisses him.

It’s not, technically, a great kiss. It’s delivered with all the subtlety of a punch, but the utter lack of hesitation is… kind of hot, actually. Steve’s lips are firm and determined, and would probably be firm and determined elsewhere on Tony’s body. Which is food for thought.

Tony turns his face slightly, slotting their mouths together. Steve moves with him, lips parting, and Tony takes it, sweeping in. Heat follows, as do Steve’s hands on Tony’s waist, and a startled sound from the back of Steve’s throat.

Steve’s a large man. Tony knows this; has _known_ this; but it’s a whole new world to feel that body pressed against his, just one firm push away from burying Tony against the couch.

When Steve draws back, his eyes are watchful. Alert, but not in the way that would make someone feel self-conscious. He sees what’s in front of him and finds all the details worth observing. Tony’s not the only one who’s found something surprising here today. Tony’s body feels prickly and warm, which is very nice.

“So how does this go?” Steve says. “Your room, you said?”

“That’s a mouth on you, mister.” Tony grins when Steve’s face goes through a journey – offense, and then pleasure. His ears even go pink. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

* * *

Tony’s jerked off to thoughts of Steve before. More so when he was younger and horny and hadn’t met the guy yet.

Before he met Steve, those masturbation sessions tended to center on the fantasy of being chosen, in one way or another – Captain America deigning to bless Tony with his dick, that kind of thing. _After_ he met Steve, immediate anger killed the fantasy stone cold dead, until the point came when a different kind of frustration boiled over, because how dare Steve Rogers be an actual person with an actual personality?

Actual sex with Steve isn’t as awkward as Tony thought it might be. Tony didn’t think that Steve would be a cold fish, exactly, but Steve’s wonderfully active, and he reacts to the smallest of Tony’s reactions like a dream. They kiss and touch each other, and finish up by rutting against each other enthusiastically – Steve sandwiched between Tony and his thousand-thread-count sheets – until they’re a sticky, sweaty mess and Steve’s gasping for breath the way he never, ever does when he’s in the gym.

Yeah, Tony’s missed sex. He could do without it just fine, but it’s nice to have someone else around for it again, even if it’s a surprise that it’s Steve who’s here with him.

“So.” Steve’s stretched out uncaringly buck-naked, his softening cock resting on one thigh. He sets his interlaced fingers on his abs. “What were my odds, by your reckoning?”

“What’s that now?”

“You said that there was a non-zero chance you’d sleep with one of us. Surely there must have been a ranking order.”

“Would you be offended if you were not at the top?”

“Honestly, I’d be confused if I _were_ at the top.”

Tony laughs. God, yes, he needed this. It’s not that he’s been _that_ stressed lately, but he appreciates the change of pace. A breather, even if an unexpected one. “Thor was at the top.”

“Really? Not Bruce?”

“Bruce was a very close second. Then you, Clint, and Natasha.”

Steve gazes at the ceiling contemplatively. “I suppose if I had to rank it for myself, there’d only be a few changes.”

“Natasha at the top,” Tony says decisively. Steve looks at him in surprise, but Tony just nods, unswayed. “You’re buddy-buddies, and non-denominational good times between buddy-buddies are known to happen.”

“Like this?”

“I guess? This was more by accident, though.”

“Sometimes that’s just how it goes.”

Tony glances over, and at noticing something, presses two fingers just under Steve’s jaw. “Hey, the hickey’s gone. The first one, I mean.”

“Oh, that wasn’t long.”

Steve reaches up for the same spot, his fingers brushing over Tony’s. It draws Tony’s eye back to Steve’s hands, which started this in the first place. But Tony doesn’t feel rattled about it anymore, maybe because by giving Steve a decent orgasm he’d leveled the playing field, as it were. Sometimes their choices lead to lousy outcomes, but there can be fun outcomes, too.

“Should I leave?” Steve asks.

“Not if you don’t want to.” Tony settles back on his side of the bed. He’ll clean up in a minute, once he’s on the cusp of feeling gross. “Just, if you’re staying, two rules – don’t kick me, and don’t wake up when you go, because I _know_ what time you wake up, thanks.”

“That’s reasonable,” Steve responds.

* * *

The morning after the friendly nighttime rub with Steve, Tony wakes up with the expectation that the other side of the bed will be cold, empty and perhaps awkwardly patted down. What Tony actually gets is Steve, fully dressed and sitting in the window nook, and eating a breakfast bar as he scowls at his tablet.

“Why here?” Tony garbles. He clears his throat. “Why are you here?”

Steve puts the tablet down. “Are you actually awake?”

“What?”

“You talk in your sleep. Nothing incriminating, just things like ‘don’t trust the marshmallows’.”

“I – I do _not_.” Tony sits up, forcing him awake so he can be fully offended. “I don’t. Do I? Is that a thing that happens with age? No, wait, I don’t want an answer. Why are you here again?”

“Are you busy this morning?”

“JARVIS, am I busy?”

“ _Only by your own worklist, sir_.”

“There,” Tony says. “What’s this about? We going to do the talk?”

“What talk?”

“How we can’t let this incident affect the team or… whatever? I mean, you’re the boss, and I’m assuming that that’s the kind of talk that happens in these situations.”

“Do you really want to talk about that? We’re all adults here, and I feel like if you’d slept with one of the others, you wouldn’t take it too kindly if I tried to make it any of my business.”

Tony nods. “Point.”

“Wait,” Steve says. “You said, ‘incident’. Singular.”

“I did.” Something in Steve’s tone makes Tony perk up, intrigued. “What’s up?”

“Actually, that’s what I wanted to… Why I’m still here, actually. Last night was.” Steve pauses, and for a second seems irritated at himself, as though he’d already worked out what he was going to say but has been betrayed by the script. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed myself. A great deal. I hope you did, too.”

“I did,” Tony agrees.

“I mean, your hands – I can take care pf myself well enough, but there were things you did I’d never… But I guess in the light of day I realized that maybe I should have asked for something…”

“Steve Rogers,” Tony says with a grin. “Are you disappointed?’

“There you go, jumping to conclusions.” Steve’s not really offended; Tony knows that voice well enough. “I literally just said that I enjoyed myself.”

“But you were expecting more of the Tony Stark experience. I don’t blame you, I guess some friendly frottage does seem pedestrian when it’s me you’re fooling around with, but in my defense, it’s been a while and I wanted to just _get on with it_ , if you know what I mean—”

“I’m still here because I wanted to ask,” Steve exclaims, talking over Tony, “would you let me go down on you?”

Tony’s rant comes to a screeching halt. “What?”

“I’d like to try.” That steely blue gaze has unnerved tougher people than Tony. “I won’t be very good, but if you’re not doing anything else this morning, I’d appreciate the honor of the experience.”

“The ‘honor’ of the ‘experience’,” Tony echoes.

Steve doesn’t rise to the bait. “No hard feelings if you don’t want to.”

“Hell, no, you nuts?” Tony blurts out. It is possible that Steve really _isn’t_ any good, and he might not even enjoy the experience. But Tony would not at all mind having to finish himself off as long as he got to be on that ride at all. “Yeah, come on, you can do whatever you want.”

It takes Steve a second or two to react, as though he wasn’t sure that Tony would agree. But then he stands and approaches the bed.

Again, there is no seduction in Steve’s approach. His movements are functional and without performance – he climbs onto the mattress, pulls off Tony’s shorts and settles between Tony’s parted legs as is most comfortable for him. Steve doesn’t even bother taking off any of his clothes. It’s very utilitarian, very _Steve_. But just because Steve isn’t making a show, it doesn’t mean he’s not into it – his focused interest is the purest proof of how much he’s into it.

It's very hot, and Tony can’t solely blame morning wood for the way he gasps when Steve starts licking him.

The morning is a long one.

Tony almost wishes he got some carbs in him beforehand, but once they start, nothing on fucking Earth could get him to stop.

He has the strangest mental image of that small Steve notebook used to have, with the list of items that he wanted to check out. He might even still have it, but Tony hasn’t seen it in a while. Anyway, Tony feels like Steve’s thoroughness in mapping Tony’s dick and balls is because there’s a long list of blowjob-related items in that notebook, and Steve needs to get through every single one.

“You don’t have to swallow,” Tony gasps, what feels like eons later. He grabs at Steve’s shoulders. “Steve, it’s fine, you don’t have to swallow, you can—”

Steve just sucks harder, of course. He also swallows, the grip of his mouth unrelenting as Tony thrashes and shouts himself hoarse. It’s only when he’s done and Tony’s whimpering helpless nothings that Steve releases him, his tongue taking one last swipe across Tony’s sensitive head as he goes.

“Give me a sec,” Steve says thickly. He shoves his pants down to grab his dick, which he starts jacking off furiously.

“Hey, no, let me help,” Tony says weakly, making grabbing motions with a hand.

“You _are_ ,” Steve replies. A few more pulls and he’s coming, his whole body rocking forward through the force of it. He’s gritting his teeth as he paints Tony’s stomach and thighs in filthy smears.

Tony’s already come, but he gets a pleasant zing from the display. As for Steve, he seems a little startled at the sight, as though he can’t believe he just did that.

“And you said you weren’t going to be good,” Tony scoffs. “Of course you had to find another way to be really fucking annoying.”

“To be fair, you give very good feedback,” Steve points out. “It helps a lot. Do you want breakfast?”

“Yes, please, oh my god.”

* * *

That’s how it starts.


	2. Chapter 2

“How do people ask for sex?” Steve is squinting at the point of his stylus, as though he’s baffled by tech instead of social mores. “In the movies, people seem to just… know when they’re both in the mood for it.”

Tony had been in the middle of pulling apart the AIM-made drone Steve brought back for him like a holiday souvenir, but he pushes the magnifier partially out of the way so he can see Steve’s face clearly. The question is an afterthought, but not idle. “The music swells, the camera zooms in?”

“Yes, all of that. Sometimes they just… touch each other? Like to push the other person’s hair back? But that’s innocuous most of the time, isn’t it?” Steve pauses, momentarily horrified at whatever it is he’s remembering. “Isn’t it?”

“It is,” Tony says. “It’s the greater context of the moment that gives it that meaning, so it can be anything – the hair touch, or a look, or a brush of hands – any of it can be an invitation.”

“But what if there _is_ no greater context? You’re not on a date with the person. Or even want to _be_ on a date with the person. So how do you ask, without being rude?”

Steve’s being able to ask Tony this is, obviously, a side effect of their already having had sex. Tony can’t imagine Steve asking it before, at least not without expecting relentless mockery and/or awkwardness on either of their parts. Sex does sometimes knock down boundaries, and the fact that Tony had a preexisting relationship with Steve meant that it was even likelier to happen.

Said sex hasn’t been repeated so far, but admittedly it’s only been a week, and Tony hasn’t had a strong hankering for an encore yet. But if _Steve_ is asking, well. That’s assuming that he _is_ asking, of course, and not just… asking.

“You gauge interest,” Tony says.

“But how?”

“Flirt. You know how to flirt, I’ve seen you flirt.”

Steve’s head snaps up. “You have _not_ seen me flirt.”

“Of course I have,” Tony says breezily. “You do it for intel, or to get awestruck people to do what you want. You know the power of being who you are, let alone how you look.”

“That – that doesn’t…” Steve trails off. “Okay, I guess that might count.”

“It does. You may not do it to follow through, but you _do_ do it.”

Tony lets that statement hang in the air. Something could happen, or nothing could happen. Hell, maybe Steve’s asking because he has his eye on someone else, and if so, good for him. Not that it’s any of Tony’s business, of course, but he has wondered once or twice if Steve was ever going to make that leap. Steve’s exploration of the twenty-first century has been gradual but thorough: work, technology, new friendships. What’s next?

Tony’s observed portions of this journey of Steve’s, but only from a distance. It’d be cool, he realizes, if he could observe this one segment of it from a slightly closer vantage point, whatever happens.

“It won’t work on you,” Steve says.

“Hmm?”

“What you just said that I… do. It won’t work on you, because you don’t care who I am, or how I look.”

“So you’re giving up, is that what you’re saying?’

Tony doesn’t have to look at Steve to know that he’s scowling. He busies himself roughly organizing the parts he’s pulled apart on the bench, and putting virtual tags on them for JARVIS to work on if he’s about to get preoccupied with other matters.

There’s the sound of Steve’s steps approaching, and then motion at the corner of Tony’s eye. When Tony looks up, Steve’s leaning against the bench. Once again there’s that magic trick – a minute ago he was Steve, teammate who occasionally comes down to the workshop because no one else will bother him while he’s here, and now he’s Steve, a hot guy in jeans and a cotton shirt that must’ve miraculously shrunk in the wash.

“Tony, you look really…” Steve trails off, and lets out a half-strangled laugh. “Oh, wow, I can’t do it.”

“Why not?” Tony says. “I look really what?”

“I was going to say you look really nice because that shade brings out your complexion, but then I realized that you must already know that.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate being told.”

“Sure, but you can get that from anyone.”

“Aww, you want to stand out in a crowd, Steve?”

“Obviously,” Steve says dryly. “I want you to fuck _me_ , not the crowd, thanks.”

Tony inhales sharply. Yes, Steve does curse sometimes, though it’s almost always in battle, or similarly tense situations. It’s not the crassness that’s shocking, but the implication of urgency. Need. Impatience. Here Steve stands at parade rest, not invading Tony’s personal space at all, and his eyes never wander down Tony’s body even for a second. Yet there are cracks that hint at hunger, and spotting those cracks is a game all its own.

“You want to get fucked?” Tony asks.

“Oh, is the position baked in? We could. Or the other way round. I don’t really know if I have a preference, to be honest.”

“Wow, you’re really just expanding all them horizons at once, huh?”

“Door’s open, might as well.” Here’s Steve freaking Rogers, on his adventure of exploration. “And… uh. I’ve liked everything else so far.”

“That is promising, yes.”

Tony stands up. Steve pushes away from the bench and turns to mirror him, so they stand in front of each other. They’re not going the distance in the workshop, but a little foreplay wouldn’t be amiss.

Steve wants to fool around, but isn’t fussed about the details of said fooling around. What does Tony want? _Does_ he want anything, specifically, with Steve?

Tony leans in, lightly touching his parted lips against Steve’s. Steve immediately starts to deepen it, but Tony draws back, forcing Steve to look at him.

“Lift me,” Tony says. “Like… the other day.”

Steve’s eyes light up at the reference. He sets his hands at first on Tony’s waist, but quickly corrects himself because it was _one_ arm, wrapped tight around Tony’s back. Tony completes the set by sliding an arm around Steve’s shoulder. When Steve pulls, they’re pressed up against each other – no tactical armor between their bodies this time.

This time, Tony lets himself _feel_ Steve’s controlled strength. There’s no threat to run away from, no enemy to take down. There’s just the coiled muscles of Steve’s chest and arms, which promise all sorts of further fun times. When Tony’s feet leave the ground, Tony drops his forehead to Steve’s shoulder, breathing heavily. Steve’s breathing heavily, too, but not from the exertion of hoisting Tony clear off the fucking floor.

“ _Sir,_ ” JARVIS says, “ _Agent Hill is asking if she can come up to see you about the report._ ”

“What the fucking shit, J—” Tony jolts in Steve’s hold, but Steve doesn’t drop him. The guy doesn’t even lose his balance, which is so incredibly hot that Tony loses his train of thought again.

“JARVIS,” Steve says, cool as a cucumber. “It sounds non-urgent, so can you let Maria know that Tony’ll be indisposed for an hour or so? But he’ll be in touch.”

“ _Of course, sir_.”

Tony’s feet are still hanging in air. He turns his face against Steve’s and whispers, “Rescuing me again, I see.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Steve replies. “Or you’re just getting into a wholly different kind of trouble.”

“Oh my God!” Tony laughs. “See, genius, you can _too_ flirt with me, what are you talking about.”

“Huh,” Steve says. “How about that.”

In the end, Maria has to wait for more than an hour before Tony can see her, but he can’t bring himself to feel bad about that.

* * *

He and Steve may not be very close (not that they need to be) but there actually _are_ a number of things that they have bonded over in these past months of being in the same team.

There’s: cheap burgers, Muay Thai, Bruce Springsteen, gorgeous sunsets over New York, and their mutual suspicion on how much Thor _actually_ knows about Earth life and how much he’s just messing with them. On the deeper end of things, there’s their hopes and fears for the Avengers, and the frustrating political maneuvering that’s needed to run an unprecedented superhero team in a major city.

Sex slips into this easily. It’s just another bonding activity, because they can do it together, and they _like_ doing it together. The chemistry is stupendous, and Tony is just glad that that wasn’t something his brain cooked up by himself. It’s real, and he’s getting to see it to its delicious conclusion.

For now, anyway.

Tony’s always treated hooking up as a fun pastime, though it was more a hobby in the old days, when the balance of risk and reward was vastly different. For Steve, on the other hand, it’s another avenue to explore, and he’ll want to branch out eventually. In fact, Tony already has the mild feeling that Steve might already be sleeping with someone else – or will soon be – because he has questions about the kind of sex Tony isn’t into, or is physically incapable of. Steve’s also very insistent on using protection.

Tony would definitely be disappointed once they stop for good, but he won’t begrudge Steve finding someone else to play with. Fun is to be enjoyed while it lasts, and Tony’s honestly kinda proud of his role in helping open up new ground for Steve.

He has no idea whether Steve simply wasn’t interested in getting laid before, or if he hadn’t known how to start going about it, or if he needed a kick to get over whatever (understandable) hang-ups he might’ve had. But now that he has the opportunity, he seems to be utterly fascinated by it. They fuck in beds, on Tony’s office desk, against walls, and one time on Steve’s motorbike in the Tower garage, which necessitated some very thorough cleaning afterward.

Steve’s sheer vigor is exciting. Once, after a session where Steve fucked Tony’s throat raw, Tony almost said, “ _Fucking hell, Steve, where did_ that _come from?_ ” but the aforementioned raw throat stopped him from doing so. Plus he lost that train of thought entirely soon after.

Maybe Steve’s so gung-ho because he just needed a hobby.

Another hobby, that is.

Because Steve does have hobbies. He must have, besides the knocking out bad guys and rescuing people. There must be loads of non-Captain America things that take up Steve’s time, because Tony’s only taken up a fraction of that free time with the sex they’ve been having. Tony doesn’t keep track of what Steve does all day outside of missions and team training, but he’s sure that if he did, it’d be full of… really interesting things.

_Tony_ may not have much of a social life these days but that’s by choice. He’s partied out and has a lot of catching up to do, so it’s allowed. Steve’s got so much else going for him, what with his being a soldier out of war, a schedule that’s at his control and with a new world to explore. Aside from the deep grief of a lost life which, again, is not Tony’s purview.

Steve draws, doesn’t he? Howard kept some of Steve’s old sketches, but Tony’s never seen a sketchbook around the Tower, not that that means anything concrete one way or another. Does running a ridiculous number of miles a day count as a hobby?

Tony only doesn’t know what Steve likes to do because that’s not part of the need-to-know basis of their friendship. Natasha definitely knows those things about Steve, as does Wilson, and maybe Clint. After all, it’s not like Tony discusses theoretical math with Steve, right? Steve has his own friends, and likes, and a whole universe that has little to do with Tony, because that’s how things are.

* * *

“We need a code,” Tony says.

“Not now,” Steve says.

“Yes, now,” Tony replies, because standing off-stage when Steve’s about to give a speech at a glittering dinner is the perfect time to harass his team leader. “I was thinking: a dolphin for the go, an urchin for the nay. Images that are identifiable in a single glance, which is especially useful when we’re busy, because I can tell you the number of times I’ve been in a meeting and—”

“Tony.”

“—it would’ve totally brightened up my day to get a dolphin from you instead of one of your long texts. You do it on purpose, don’t you? I can’t even enjoy the _content_ of your message, because my eyes just glaze over and I assume it’s something boring. Aren’t you going to ask me why a dolphin?”

“Because dolphins have sex for fun, instead of mainly for procreation.”

Tony blinks. “Hey, yeah, exactly. And urchins are, you know, prickly. So that’s why they’re a _nay_ response.”

“Not because they reproduce by sending their seed out into the water?”

“What? No, geez, why are you overthinking it. Anyway, if we have this code in place, we can send each other these icons if either one of us is in the mood. It’s simple, clear, to-the-point, and it’d save so much time—”

Steve puts his hand on Tony’s face, but not in a sexy way. In fact, it’s outright offensive at how he can fling a hand out and get a flawless grip Tony’s jaw – as though Tony is a wayward puppy, and as though Steve’s perfectly conscious of exactly where in space Tony is at any given moment.

“ _Not now_ , Tony,” Steve says.

“Okay.”

Steve releases him. He does a quick check of his cue cards, as if he even needs cue cards; he always goes off the rails ten minutes into any speech that involves government spending. Without looking up, Steve says, “If you want to propose something, do it properly and when I can give you my full attention. Waylaying me serves no one.”

“But it’s fun,” Tony says.

“And useless.” Steve tucks the cards into his jacket and adjusts his posture. Tony helpfully adjusts the collar of Steve’s dress jacket, and gets a nod for thanks. “Besides, you’re supposed to be on floor duty, don’t think I’m not aware that you’re hiding.”

“Ugh, yeah okay.” Tony starts to leave, then thinks better of it and turns back for a quick, “Don’t forget to slam them about their flip-flopping on the space security policy.”

“Ah, right. Thanks.”

Tony leaves Steve to it, and while weaving around personal assistants and floor crew, spots Bruce standing near the wall, doing his best not to look anxious with so many uniforms in the room. Tony slides his arm into Bruce’s and drags him along – not back into the floor, which isn’t fun anyway, but towards the desserts.

“Steve’s got it under control?” Bruce asks.

“When does he not?” Tony replies.

“Right. That was nice of you, though. I mean, you two make a good team.”

“What, you think I was _helping_ Steve? I assure you, my good Bruce, it was the opposite.” Tony glances back at the stage, where Steve has just stepped out towards the rostrum. The stage lights are too bright – an SI set-up would use a warmer tint, to bring out the glow of Steve’s skin – but the guy’s still a tall drink of water, drawing just about every eye in the room without even trying. If Tony were a lesser man, he’d be envious.

“You should’ve just come as his plus one,” Bruce adds.

Tony rolls his eyes. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“Why’s that?” Bruce pokes his elbow into Tony’s waist. “Would that give people the wrong idea or something?”

Tony narrows his eyes at Bruce, who just smiles at him beatifically.

* * *

If all the sex they’re having is opening doors for Steve, it’s also doing the same for Tony. Kind of.

Exchanging bodily fluids necessitates spending actual time together, without anyone else as a buffer. If Steve were awful at pillow talk, Tony would’ve gotten bored pretty much instantaneously. The fact that Tony _isn’t_ bored means as they keep at it, Tony gets more and more opportunities to take non-sexy liberties with Steve.

Namely, between lengthy experimentations on how many times and ways that Steve can get off, Tony gets to bring up (non-personal) topics that previously would’ve been rebuffed, or not taken seriously, or taken _too_ seriously. Things like: Steve’s tactical choices, his favorite ways to fall with style, and what he really thinks of the various VVIPs that they have to touch base with every so often.

The courtesy goes the other way, too. Steve has questions of his own, such as what it feels like to move in the Iron Man suit, the thinking behind Tony’s aesthetic choices, and so on. Sometimes Steve even drops a non-sequitur during sex itself, such as the one time that he randomly decided – _while_ riding Tony’s dick – to ask him why he still drinks smoothies when he takes obvious pleasure in eating. (Tony laughed as he came, but that’s neither here nor there.)

In general, it makes Tony more daring, in ways he wasn’t before.

There’s a day when the whole team goes on a partner mission with SHIELD, and tempers on both teams flare up. Handling this dynamic isn’t Tony’s wheelhouse; Natasha is Steve’s second, and she has that covered.

But after the field trip is over and they’ve returned to the Tower, Tony can’t help noticing that Steve is quiet. Touchy. He has Natasha chair a truncated debrief, and once it’s done excuses himself.

None of this is unusual. Like everyone else, Steve has moods and needs personal time, which can vary from an hour to a day. Tony would let it be, but he feels on edge, as though holding his snark through the worst of the mission means that he needs to compensate for it now. Or something like that.

Tony manages to corner Natasha before she disappears. “Hey, you going after Steve?”

“What?” Natasha says.

“Steve was looking a bit peeved there.”

“Yes, there was…” Natasha sighs. “One of the agents made an unfair remark about the Howling Commandos. I shut that down, but you know Steve. He takes it hard sometimes.”

“Right. So are you going to make sure that he’s okay?”

“Some people like that, but not everyone,” Natasha says, almost kindly. “He just needs some space.”

“Sure, I guess, but…” Tony trails off with a scowl when he sees Natasha’s dubious look. “Look, I know I’m not an expert on the guy just ‘cause I sleep with him occasionally. But it isn’t right, okay? He shouldn’t have to sit in a fucking stairwell by himself for a few hours as if there’s no one who cares about him.”

“He _knows_ we care about him, that’s why he does it.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Tony,” Natasha says seriously. “Don’t go poking at him while he’s like this. You know better than that. Tony?”

“Yeah, I heard you.”

That isn’t a lie, because Tony _did_ hear Natasha. And he is aware of all the excellent reasons to not go after Steve, the least of which is that while Tony may have the privilege of picking fights with Steve all the time, the trick these days is that those fights must never be personal. (Like the fucking, that can’t be personal, either.) They can fight about the job, strategies, politics, or the many stupid shallow things that they have opinions about, but they can never strike close to home.

If Tony wormed his way in now, what would he even _do_? He’s not the kind of person who can handle that conversation with Steve (or with anyone else in the universe except Rhodey). That’s why he’d asked Natasha in the first place.

But if Natasha isn’t doing anything, then… what?

Tony should just let it be. Steve will be fine, because he always is. Solid head on solid shoulders.

But he should have an option, just in case. After all, Tony knows what _he_ likes when he wants to forget the world for an hour so. And if there’s anything that Tony’s good at, it’s providing a distraction.

Tony takes out his cellphone and sends a message to Steve. He does it quickly, before he can second-guess himself, and then heads up to his bedroom. The message reads: “ _I’m in my room, if you want a sure thing. No pressure._ ” He debated putting an emoji at the end, but decided against it.

It would’ve been fine if Steve didn’t show up. Tony would be restless, but at least he’d tried, and at least he’d not gone banging around where he wasn’t wanted.

But Steve does show up, sort of. He knocks the door, though when Tony answers it Steve’s already retreated a couple of feet down the hallway, as though he’d changed his mind. When he hears Tony, he turns back, a sheepish expression on his face.

“Hey.” Tony steps out of his room and leans against the wall, in what he knows is a photo-perfect slouch. “You busy there, Cap?”

“Could be.” Steve’s voice is even, his posture seemingly relaxed save for where he has his hands in his pockets – that’s one of his awkwardness tells. “What’re you up to?”

“I have a couple of options, haven’t decided yet.” Steve’s not leaving, so Tony takes that as an invite to approach. He does it nice and easy, using the ol’ strut of a man who knows exactly what he has on offer and the other person is welcome to look all they want. Once close enough, he puts his hands lightly at Steve’s waist, and leans in.

Steve’s lips move against his, but stiffly.

Tony pulls back. “Okay, we don’t have to.” He strokes his palms up and down Steve’s arms, keeping the pressure strong and even. “I can give you a massage, if you want? _Someone_ said that my hands are pretty nice. No? God, if you just want a nap, I don’t blame you, my bed is so much nicer than yours and—”

“No, I…” Steve swallows. “I do, I—”

“What?” Tony tilts his head up, grinning. “What do you want?”

Steve closes his eyes. He’s frowning, but he seems more frustrated than angry. Maybe he doesn’t know what he wants.

“How about right here, Steve?” Tony says. “Right here, where anyone can see? I’ll go on my knees for you, I know you like that.”

A rush of air passes Steve’s lips. A gasp, but more forceful. Steve’s eyes remain closed, but his hands are clenching and unclenching. Tony tries his luck by sliding a hand over Steve’s crotch, following the thickening length of him that’s dressed to the left.

“Not here,” Steve says at last. “Inside.”

Tony nods, and takes Steve’s hand in his. He draws Steve into his room, and as they undress, watches Steve closely, trying to get a read on how this needs to go. Hard, he thinks. He’s going to get Steve flat on his back and ride his dick until Steve comes at least twice.

This is Tony’s plan. What actually happens is by the time they’re on the bed, Tony manages to crawl on top of Steve for maybe two seconds before Steve flips them over, pinning Tony against the bed.

“Oh,” Tony breathes. Steve hovers over him, his eyes focused once more, and all the more breathtaking for it. “You got a plan there now, Steve?”

“It’s shaping up,” Steve admits. “You ready for me?”

“Wouldn’t have asked you up here if I wasn’t.”

Steve believes him, which is great, because he gets right down to it. A few searing kisses and some perfunctory fingering later, Steve’s pushing right on into him. Tony bears it all, the most willing of receptacles.

That said, a minute or so after Steve starts pounding, Tony has the rather hysterical thought that he’s not as altruistic about this as he’d tried to convince himself he was. For all that he’s tried to center on what Steve would enjoy the most, _Tony’s_ the one who’s now getting fucked out of his mind, his legs as wide as he can keep them, his breath barely recovering between each snap of Steve’s hips.

“Oh God,” Tony chokes, between chanting of Steve’s name and how he should never, ever stop. “Oh God, oh my God, that’s so good, yes, please, God, _fuck_.”

Fooling around with Steve is always fun, and most of the time Tony feels like the supposed sex god he’s been said to be. Other times, however, Tony feels like the most basic kind of whore, begging for Steve to please to that thing with his dick, his glorious dick, he’ll just _die_ if Steve doesn’t give him what he needs. Tony’s not embarrassed by this in any way; it’s just interesting, is all.

“You’re so loud.” Steve’s voice is low and breathless, but he’s smiling, and it’s beautiful. “There’s so – so much—”

“Not enough.” Tony claws at Steve’s shoulders. He gazes up at Steve, his eyes wide and pleading. “It’s not too much, it’s just right, come on—”

“You want more.”

“Yes, yes, give it to me, fuck—”

Tony’s already having a good time, but they go into a bonus round when Steve, his eyes narrowing contemplatively, plucks Tony’s hands from his shoulders and pins them above Tony’s head. Tony pushes against the hold automatically, and the wonderfully futile effort draws his whole body taut.

He pushes again, but doesn’t get an inch. A ripple of excitement moves through his body as he realizes that he has to stay here and take whatever Steve gives him. Steve hasn’t even paused his moving inside of Tony, what the fuck. Tony’s balls tighten, and his legs start to shake.

“Fuck,” Tony gasps.

Steve shifts his grip of Tony’s wrists to one hand. Just one hand is enough to hold Tony down, which isn’t a surprise, exactly, but knowing that as a fact of the world is completely different from living that fact while getting fucked.

Tony cranes his neck to look up, at where Steve’s hand is holding him down. He sees his own biceps straining, and follows the line to Steve’s biceps, which are also straining but _less_ , and then down to Steve’s face. Tony feels as pinned by Steve’s gaze as he is by Steve’s hand, which is to say, he’d let Steve do anything, and he’d thank him for it.

Two last perfectly-aimed thrusts send pleasure ricocheting up Tony’s body, sending him over the threshold. Steve just said he likes how loud Tony is, so he’d probably have no complaints about the noise Tony makes as he comes, garbled and high-pitched.

Steve makes a good sound when he comes, too. A harsh cry, which sounds like it’s been ripped from the back of his throat. Shudders wrack his body, and then – calm. _Real_ calm, that clears Steve’s face and takes Tony’s breath away.

The moment passes. They untangle themselves and lie down, shoulder to hip, as they recover.

“I’m gonna be sore tomorrow. Tonight, actually.” Tony pushes himself up onto his elbows and lets out an almighty sigh of contentment. “Fucking _hey_ , wasn’t that something.”

“You’re not afraid,” Steve says.

“Hmm? Of what?”

“I could’ve hurt you.”

“With what, that?” Tony rotates his wrists experimentally, but there’s only a pleasant burn that’ll no doubt fade in an hour or two. “That’s nothing.”

“But it’s…” Steve swallows, strangely hesitant. “I’m strong. I _could_ have.”

“And when I fuck around in the workshop I could blow something up in my face, but I do it anyway. What’s your point?”

Steve falls silent. He stares up at the ceiling, leaving Tony bereft and wrongfooted. They’ve gone a little rough before, but it’s always been Tony who took the lead, showing Steve what they could do.

“I liked it,” Tony says. “You saw how much I liked it. There’s nothing wrong with burning off energy this way. Energy, or even anger.” Or sadness. “Sometimes that’s what it’s for, you know? You’re doing it _with_ me, not _at_ me. I’m not like one of your goddamned punching bags.”

Steve seems to shrink on himself a little, but his expression doesn’t change, not a muscle. He’s perfectly handsome, perfectly statuesque, but so painfully hyperconscious of his body that it makes Tony’s teeth ache.

It’s annoying.

Tony scoots over, ignoring the grossness for now, and puts his arms around Steve. He does it without thinking, and before he remembers that they usually don’t do this. But as soon as he does it, it feels right. Steve feels perfect in his arms, solid and real, and Tony squeezes as hard as he can.

Steve turns his face against Tony’s chest. The longer that Tony stays quiet, the more he relaxes.

Tony feels a glow in his chest that is only tangential to the orgasm.

“You’re not going to ask me,” Steve says. “Why I needed this.”

“Geez, do you want me to?”

“ _God_ , no.”

“A blessing on both our houses.”

Tony may not be equipped to talk to Steve about whatever’s going on in his head, but he can offer this. Maybe that’s even the whole point, and why Steve felt comfortable enough to come up here in the first place, when he normally would’ve taken his alone time.

After all, Tony can barely deal with his own damage, so to expect him to handle someone else’s is to do an emotional equivalent of a Hulk smash. He’s the bull in the china shop, offering more damage than comfort. That makes him safe, in a way; Tony’s inability to acknowledge or smooth over Steve’s issues means that Steve doesn’t have to fear Tony actually trying.

Tony won’t push or needle or pry, because that part of Steve belongs to people like Natasha and Wilson. Tony gets this – clearly demarcated, and all the neater for it.

“Although,” Tony says, “you can be pretty scary when you find out that someone’s been drinking straight from the milk carton. I have nightmares sometimes, about that face you make.”

Steve laughs against Tony’s chest.

* * *

Thanksgiving rolls around with the Tower mostly empty. Clint and Natasha have their mysterious getaway, Thor happily does his own thing, and Tony drags Bruce with him to spend it with the Rhodes, as is their usual practice. As for Steve, Tony covertly checks in with Wilson that the guy has a place to go, and Wilson is contentious enough to send a candid picture Tony’s way, of Steve passed out post-turkey on the Wilsons’ couch.

Not long after that is the Avengers’ second Christmas in the Tower. Last year they were busy working through their growing pains, but this year everyone’s leveled up and fully prepared. There are tasteful decorations, a low-key party for close friends, and, though not at all mandatory or expected, an exchange of presents.

Steve corners Tony early in the evening to hand over a neatly-wrapped flat-ish box. “You’ll never guess.”

“Oh, exciting.” Tony unwraps it with overwrought cautiousness, making Steve sigh impatiently. Steve retaliates by reaching for the paper hat on Tony’s head, Tony retaliates to _that_ by ripping the rest of the paper off and throwing it at Steve. Then he sees what the present is. “Oh my God.”

“Blue Oyster Cult, right?” Steve says.

Tony cracks up. He laughs until he’s hissing through his teeth, and then he’s pulling at the plastic box to the shirt underneath it. It’s a joke shirt, of anthropomorphized blue oysters in a line underneath a larger blue oyster seemingly preaching to them, and Tony loves it.

“I got you a proper one,” Steve says. “It’s under the tree, you can get it later.”

“Oh, no no no, I’m wearing this one.” Tony immediately starts making his way to the pantry, where the fridge door doubles as a mirror.

Steve follows him, saying, “Wait, Tony, no, you don’t need to—”

“Shut up, I’m wearing it.” Tony shucks off his jacket, which Steve takes and drapes on the counter. The cotton stretches enough over Tony’s white dress shirt, and it’s easy enough to maneuver the whole thing over his party hat. He tugs it into place, then clucks his tongue at Steve. “It’s short-sleeved.”

“The proper one has long sleeves,” Steve says. “You look ridiculous.”

“I am a fashion icon,” Tony declares. “I look amazing, and you need to get over yourself.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Actually—” Tony starts to turn so can return to the thick of the party and show off his present, but as he does, his hat snags on something. He spins in place and looks up, where there’s a long strand of mistletoe hanging from the decorative lights. “That wasn’t there earlier.”

“Probably not,” Steve says. “I think Clint’s been moving them around.”

“Well, nothing for it.” Tony opens his hands. “C’mon.”

There’s no one at the party who doesn’t already know that he and Steve have been knocking boots. It’s not a secret, nor is it something that they’ve gone out of their way to tell people, because there’s not much to tell. What they’re doing certainly hasn’t included any sort of public displays of affection or handsiness.

Steve leans in, aiming for Tony’s cheek. It’s the right call, and Tony salutes it. But Tony’s got a good buzz going – he’s _had_ a good buzz all evening, because hey he actually likes these people he works with, and the joke gift has practically launched him into the stratosphere. So Tony turns his face, letting Steve’s kiss land on Tony’s mouth instead.

Steve huffs a laugh against Tony’s lips, and makes a sound to the effect of, _why not_. It becomes a proper kiss, deep and brazen and languid, and the result of all the practice that they’ve had so far. Tony knows Steve’s mouth, which is so generous and clever and knowing of all the ways to make Tony’s body thrum with pleasure.

They’re interrupted when something paper-crinkly hits the side of Tony’s head. He turns sharply to bark, “Hey, William Tell! You want someone to blame, blame the decorator!” He points at the mistletoe, and gets a raspberry from Clint in return.

“This party is rated PG-13!” Clint calls out.

Bruce, who’s standing next to Clint, says, “Yes, please, much obliged.”

Tony snorts. He turns back to Steve, fully intending to say something rude about Clint, and he sees – something. A light on Steve’s face, the briefest glimpse through a crack before there’s no crack at all, and it’s just Steve turning his eyes skyward in amusement the way he always does.

“He has no place to complain,” Tony says. “Anyway, I’m going to make sure he and Thor get under the mistletoe, you with me?”

“Thor’s happy to kiss everyone,” Steve points out.

“ _Sure_ , but what if we imply that there’s a competitive element to it, involving a timed record. Longest kiss. Yes? Yes, let’s find him.”

Steve sighs and lets Tony pull him along into the rest of the night’s antics with the rest of their friends. It’s easy and comfortable, a warm blanket of rapport that they’ve worked together to make.

* * *

It was fondness that Tony saw on Steve’s face. Fondness – soft and open and aching, and the kind of which doesn’t belong there at all. Or, at least, it doesn’t belong there when Steve looks at Tony.

Tony could’ve imagined it.

But it seems a strange thing for Tony to imagine at all. Sure, people project all the time, but don’t they usually do that out of wishful thinking? This isn’t something Tony wants at all, and instead of being hopeful and excited, he’s just really fucking confused.

After all, Steve’s smart. He may have a romantic streak (if it’s still there) but he knows what to expect from Tony, and what Tony’s capable of. He was there, after all, through the aftermath of Tony’s breaking up with Pepper.

From the very beginning Steve’s been just as blunt as Tony – _more_ blunt, really – about what he wants. There’s been no uncertainty, no confusion, no dangling threads that lead to paths unknown. The line between them has always been clear, and Tony’s had zero interest in toeing that line. He’s also pretty damn sure that he hasn’t been leading Steve on.

Anyway, they’ve only been fucking for… a few months. Three months?

That doesn’t seem right. It feels like only yesterday that Steve kissed him that first time like a sledgehammer.

How can it possibly be three months already? Tony’s had his fair share of extended hook-ups in the past, but three months is pushing it.

Maybe the passing of time snuck up on him because what he and Steve have is exactly that: _not_ a relationship. They’re not passing the milestones of what people who are dating would go through, with date nights and gifts and elaborate gestures. Where Steve and Tony started is exactly where they still are, so it’s… a comfortable plateau.

Except for that split second Steve looked at Tony as though he saw more than just a friend whom he sometimes sticks his dick into.

Anyway, Tony’s not 100% positive that’s what he saw. Just because Tony’s gotten better at reading Steve lately, that doesn’t mean that he’s always right.

The empirical evidence stacks up against it, too: Steve is still Steve, snarky and exasperating and deeply opinionated even if he’s highly selective about when and how he shares said opinions. He may be more open to listening to Tony these days, but he never hesitates to disagree, or prioritize other people over Tony.

There’s been no favoritism, no attempts to demand more of Tony’s time, and no sneaky hints at adding non-bedroom activities to their repertoire. In fact, the one time that Tony suggested that they might grab a bite, Steve thought it was a group thing and invited the others along. Every single lingering touch that Steve gives him clearly and immediately turns sexual.

Maybe Tony really did imagine it.

Regardless of whether he did or not, the most logical thing for Tony to do is to continue as is, but while keeping his eyes open. Yes, that’s perfect.

* * *

For the New Year, Tony and Steve trade out any team partying for some heavy petting in Tony’s hot tub instead. This is followed by the massage that Tony once promised Steve, complete with a happy ending.

It’s all so completely typical of them, though an unusual element is that after they’re sated, Steve’s so fascinated by the knots that Tony worked out from his back that he immediately sits up and does testing stretches with his arms.

“Would you look at that,” Steve says in amazement. He has both arms lifted above his head at angle, and is pushing them this way and that. “You’d think the serum would have this covered, too.”

Tony’s still lying flat on the bed, content where he is. “Just say, ‘Thank you, Tony”.”

“Thank you, Tony.”

“It’s in combination with the hot water soak, if that wasn’t obvious,” Tony says. “You know, loosening your muscles up. You have heard of that, right.”

“For normal people, sure.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “See, that’s your problem. You assume that just because you’re in peak physical condition, it means that there’s nothing worth working on. Or improving.”

“I’m not sure I’m going to take advice on complacency from a man who thinks coffee counts as a well-rounded meal.”

“At least I know what I’m doing with my body,” Tony points out. “Every cup is an informed decision.”

The first crack of fireworks interrupts them. The sound is muffled by the double glaze, but flashes of light leak through the drawn blinds, announcing the pop ‘n bang that’s happening over the city. Tony turns his head to the closest window, distracted by the memory that last year he watched the fireworks from the roof instead. The whole team was up there – not on purpose, but drawn one after another until they’d gathered together to listen to Thor’s Ted Talk on the Gregorian calendar.

Tony was still wary of Steve then, but the glimpse of how well they could work together on the battlefield made him determined. At the time, Tony thought that he was the only one – aside from Fury – who thought that the Avengers had to be more than a flash in the pan. It’s only in retrospect that Tony can see that Steve was trying, too.

“Happy New Year,” Steve says. “I’d kiss you, but I know where your mouth’s been.”

“Rude,” Tony responds. “You’re not wrong, but still. Rude.”

“Fine, here.” Steve presses two fingers to his own pursed mouth, and then smacks said fingers in the vague direction of Tony’s mouth. Tony tries to sound aghast, but ends up laughing instead, the sound drowning out the last of the muted fireworks. He can’t fault Steve’s small, pleased smile, and retaliates with only a friendly smack on Steve’s ass as he escapes to the bathroom.

Afterward, Tony tucks himself under the covers while Steve has his turn to wash up. Tony usually dozes off quickly after Steve’s worn him down, but tonight his thoughts continue to churn, keeping him restless and semi-awake.

Hence, Tony is partially awake when Steve returns to bed and joins him under the covers.

Tony is also partially awake when Steve touches him, hesitantly. His fingertips land on the space just behind Tony’s shoulder, over the cotton of Tony’s tank top. Steve’s touch stays there for a few long seconds, and then moves in a long, slow line down Tony’s side, coming to rest over his waist. The touch is light, careful. Tony cannot for the life of him imagine what expression Steve could have on his face now.

Steve doesn’t whisper a goodnight, but he does kiss Tony on his shoulder, and so faintly that Tony wouldn’t have felt it at all if he weren’t bracing for it.

After that, Steve lies down and the night is still.


	3. Chapter 3

An unusual problem requires an unusual solution.

The real problem – the really _real_ problem – is that Steve’s a great guy, and Tony likes him. Yeah, Tony can admit that, and he’s self-aware enough to know that it’s not a secret to anyone on the team. It’s not a secret to Steve, either, and it shouldn’t be.

Tony likes Steve, for real. He has no idea if they can hang out, just the two of them, when sex isn’t on the agenda, but that’s not a prerequisite for Tony’s thinking that hey, Steve’s a cool guy. He’s smart and stubborn and believes that trying to do the right thing is always worthwhile, even when it’s difficult. He gets invested and stays invested, even when the chips are down. He makes Tony laugh way too much, which is weird because not everyone gets that the guy has a sense of humor in the first place.

He deserves better than to pin hopes on Tony, of all people.

There’s always a risk that feelings may get involved, but Tony had truly and honestly thought that it would be long over before it’d get anywhere close to that. Of course Steve was going to explore as much as he wanted with Tony and then expand his horizons with other people. Or that Steve and/or Tony would lose interest and wander away. Or it’d turn awkward or mess up the team dynamic, and they’d have to mutually call it quits.

None of that’s happened.

An unusual problem requires an unusual solution, and Tony’s shiniest New Year’s resolution should be to spend a significant percentage of his substantial grey matter in figuring out that solution, which should ideally be as prompt and painless as possible.

That’s the ideal scenario.

The actual scenario is that Tony gets put in the spot, and panics.

The day after New Year’s, the whole team’s going about the Tower with fresh energy. Or maybe that’s just Tony, who feels like he’s pacing everywhere in trying to figure out what to do about Steve.

How do you end it without making Steve feel like he’s being punished for being human? It would be good to wrap it up as clearly as they started it, but Tony’s always been terrible at _not_ being terrible about that kind of thing.

That’s also assuming that feelings really are involved on Steve’s part, which Tony doesn’t know for sure and only has a… very strong vibe about. He doesn’t believe Steve is in love with him or anything nonsensical like that, but Steve’s probably gotten too comfortable for his own good, and is building up in his head what he _thinks_ is a legitimate attachment, when said attachment would be far more productive being made upon someone else. Who is not Tony.

Not that Tony knows that for sure, either.

It’s at this point that Tony’s pacing takes him to the office floor, overlooking the Quinjet hangar. Natasha’s here, too, busy at work with her tablet, but obviously not too busy that Tony can’t accost her.

Which he does, by falling into her slipstream as she marches down the hallway.

“Hey, hi, since you’re not busy,” Tony says, ignoring Natasha’s sigh. He drops his voice to a whisper: “This is about Steve – I mean, you’re up to date on Steve, right? Do you know if he’s looking for… If he’s scouting… Is there someone out there that he’s interested in and thinking about asking out for a date, that kind of thing?”

“Why the hell would he want to do that?” Natasha speeds up her marching, though Tony keeps up with her, determined.

“But you know him,” Tony says. “You go out, you do friend things, and that includes being his wingwoman, doesn’t it? Wingperson?”

“Doesn’t mean he’s looking for a dance partner _out there_.”

The way Natasha’s presses the last two words makes Tony’s brain futz out for two seconds. Unfortunately, it’s two seconds that Tony could have used to escape, because the next thing Natasha says is, “Hey, Steve, there you are!”

Tony jumps in surprise. Indeed, Steve is right there, because he was apparently also on this floor, not that Tony noticed when he came up here. Right now he’s looking slightly distracted by the folder he was flipping through, though he’s paused said flipping for the moment.

“What is it?” Steve says.

“Tony needs to talk to you,” Natasha says.

Tony shoots a quick, deadly side-eye at Natasha, who merely turns around and saunters off.

“Okay.” Steve flips the monstrous folder shut – making his biceps ripple – and approaches. “What is this about?”

“Uh,” Tony says.

“Can it wait, then?” Steve’s very mildly irritated, clearly because he was interrupted and has other very important things on his mind. For a second Tony feels a surge of triumph because surely if Steve had feelings for him then he’d be happy to see Tony, but that feeling is immediately quashed when he remembers that human beings generally need more than a few hours away from each other before they miss each other. Plus Pepper got irritated with Tony all the time, even while they were together and she was definitely into him.

_Pepper_.

“Pepper,” Tony says.

“The seasoning or the person?” Steve says.

“Don’t let her hear you say that.”

“I’ll be careful. What about her?”

“She’ll be in the city this weekend.”

“Alright. Is she visiting? Do I need to tell Maria?”

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary.” This plan felt perfectly sensible in the prior split-second that Tony cooked it up, but as the lie finally passes his lips he’s equal parts worked up and nauseous: “It’s actually that I, uh… We might be… again. We were just talking and might want to give it another shot. Me and her.”

Steve’s face is blank. Perfectly blank, like a canvas, on which you can see anything you want.

“I know, this is the worst—” Tony winces. “I’m just sorry.”

“Why?” Steve says.

“Well. Because…”

“It’s great news.” Steve even smiles, and it seems to be a good smile, but the cracks show – he’s holding himself too still, and his hand jerks awkwardly in an aborted mission to pat Tony’s shoulder. Tony’s stomach sinks. “I’m very happy for you.”

“You don’t need to say that,” Tony says weakly.

“Of course I do.”

“Nothing might happen at all. It’s just dinner, we have dinner all the time, and it could turn out to be a whole lot of nothing. But I had to tell you first.”

“Thank you,” Steve says. “I appreciate it, but you don’t have to worry.”

“Okay.”

“ _Tony._ ” Steve does grip Tony’s shoulder then, a tight squeeze that makes Tony look Steve in the eye. “Don’t feel bad about this. Because then I’ll feel bad, and then everyone will be miserable all at once.”

“I should be doing the pep talk here, not you.”

“Sadly, I have somewhat more experience on that than you.”

Tony huffs a laugh despite himself. He’s immediately annoyed, and tries to focus on that feeling, centering on it as he looks Steve in the eye. “Maybe now you can give it a shot. Sometimes I wonder if you haven’t bothered looking for someone to go out with, for _real_ , just because me and you were having a good time.”

“You can wonder all you like,” Steve says. Tony thinks that anyone who doesn’t know Steve would miss the underlying sharpness in the words. “Sometimes the simplest reason is the real one. I’m not interested, so I didn’t look.”

“Fine.”

“No hard feelings, Tony,” Steve says firmly. “You hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony sighs; now he has to call Pepper to see if she actually wants to have dinner. “Thanks, sorry for… what were you doing?”

“Running a superhero team, nothing important.” Steve smiles at Tony’s eye roll. “See you later, then.”

They part ways – Steve back to work and Tony downstairs to find something to do that isn’t pacing over Steve. Anyway, ethics of using a lie aside, Tony accomplished his goal and should feel glad for it. If Steve was getting ideas – and it does seem likely that he was – it was definitely the right decision to nip it in the bud.

Which is what Tony’s done.

He still feels uneasy, though.

* * *

The team goes on a recovery mission out west, to an erstwhile abandoned bomb testing site. A couple of things go wrong, but it’s no one’s fault – Bruce forced himself to come because of his expertise, and his being on edge means that everyone’s on edge. But they come together like the team Tony dreamed they could be, by making up for each’s deficiencies and being more than the sum of their parts.

On the whole, Tony thinks they did pretty good.

That’s why he’s surprised when, after they’re back in the Tower and everyone’s been cleared, Steve comes bounding into the elevator just as Tony’s about to go up to his workshop.

“Don’t ask me for a brief before the end of the day,” Tony says. “I’ll get JARVIS on it but until SHIELD’s cleared with their analysis I’m not going to—”

“That’s fine, take your time.” Steve’s already out of his tactical suit and washed up, so his hair is still damp. “Are you all right?”

“What? Bruce is the one that needs looking out for.”

“Yes, and we’re doing that, but you. How are you?”

Tony looks at Steve in bafflement, but the guy seems sincere. He’s concerned, too, which is extra strange. Tony takes stock of himself: he didn’t do anything too stupid out in the field today, mostly followed orders, and only has some minor bruises that barely even need an ice-pack.

“I’m… fine?” Tony says. “Why, what did I do?”

“Nothing, it’s just you seem…” Steve pauses. “Ah, okay, I might have… hmm.”

The elevators open on the workshop floor, and Tony walks out, beckoning Steve to follow him. In the workshop itself, Steve goes to the coffee machine while Tony fires up his screens.

“Thanks,” Tony says, when Steve passes him a full thermos. “Sit. What’s up?”

“I think I’ve made a mountain out of a molehill and would like to cut my losses.” Steve takes sip of his own coffee. “Would it be poor form to put up a white flag?”

“Before we’ve even started arguing? C’mon, that’s loser talk. And clears up _absolutely nothing_.”

It’s been a couple of days since Tony dropped the fake Pepper bombshell and he’s been feeling off ever since, but he doesn’t think he’s been taking it out on anyone, and especially not Steve.

Steve, on the other hand, seems to be doing fine. He is steadfast and tenacious and so very _Steve_ , with nothing of his behavior indicating that anything’s changed between them, except that there’s no more late-night (or early evening) excursions to each other’s rooms. Steve may have been initially disappointed about that , but whatever the depth of his affection for Tony was then, he’s clearly gotten over it. He hasn’t been avoiding Tony at all, and is as thoughtful as ever, as direct as ever.

This is what the evidence of Tony’s eyes is telling him. He’s been trying his best to believe it, but still.

“You thought, what?” Tony leans against the workbench. He can admit that he’s kind of missed Steve, but they live in the same fucking building and see each other almost every day so that’d be dumb. He’s probably only missing the regularity of getting laid. “Break it down for me, champ.”

“I thought maybe you were upset about Pepper,” Steve admits sheepishly.

That’s not what Tony was expecting. “Why?”

“You haven’t said anything about her to anyone in the team, after your dinner the other day. And you don’t seem…” Steve trails off, and Tony does not do him the mercy of filling the silence. Tony merely holds Steve gaze through another long sip of coffee, which Steve knows very well is on purpose. Steve sighs. “I just remember how it was when you were with her, that’s all.”

“Okay…” Tony prompts.

“And you’re not like that right now. _So_ , I figured that you might be… well. Upset. About that.”

“Sad, you mean.”

“White flag,” Steve says quickly. “I was wrong.”

“I can’t even lord this over you.” Relieved for a chance to clear the air, Tony continues: “The dinner the other day was just dinner. There was nothing and there wasn’t ever going be anything. But thanks for the concern, I guess.”

Steve frowns a little. “Is that sarcasm?”

“No, not sarcasm, just… I don’t know why it matters.”

“Of course it matters,” Steve says, horror in his voice. “You were happy. If there’s any way for you two to get back together, you should go for it.”

Tony shrugs. “Eh.”

“If you want to talk about it, I’m here,” Steve says gently. “I don’t know much about romance but seeing the two of you – that’s like lightning. You’ve seen each other through so much.”

“History is its own thing, but the rest of it… The change is always fun at the start, sure.” Tony’s laugh comes out a little self-deprecating, and Steve frowns. “Don’t get me wrong, Pepper’s one of the most important people in my life and always will be, but when I turned my life upside down with Iron Man and SI, it made me feel that things that seemed impossible just a few years ago were not possible. So why _shouldn’t_ I give it a real go for an actual relationship? But I found out I’m just not wired for it. It’s no one’s fault.”

Steve rarely looks as unhappy as he does right now. More accurately, Steve rarely _lets_ himself look as unhappy as does right now. Tony feels like a heel for putting that on Steve’s face, but at the same time there’s something else that’s buzzing under his skin – an utterly selfish excitement, perhaps – at the realization that Steve cares that much. How about that?

At last Steve says, “Okay, I get that.”

Tony frowns. “Don’t say that, c’mon.”

“It’s true,” Steve insists, with such finality that it feels like a punch to the gut. “The lives we have, the risks we take – it makes those kinds of connections difficult.”

“No, we’re not the same,” Tony says, a little loudly to cover his disquiet. “You’re still… You meet plenty of people in this line of work who understand what you do. Plenty of chances, surely. You’re not like me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I _do_. I never actually craved that kind of relationship, I just thought that I should give it a try, just in case. But you, you had dreams, you’ve wanted—”

“Back then.” Steve shakes his head, stern but not offended. “My life’s different now, so I want different things.”

Tony deflates. “Really?”

“Really, Tony.” Steve smiles then, and he scrutinizes Tony closely. “Are you worried about me?”

“No,” Tony says quickly.

“That’s sweet of you.”

“I’m just saying, it seems premature to make declarations.”

“I can say the same right back at you.”

“Sure, but I’ve actually _tried_.” Steve’s face takes on a pinched look, so Tony immediately follows that up with, “Sorry, that was uncalled for.”

“No, no, you had a point there, but my stance stays where it is.”

It’s all just confusing. Tony’s gut feeling refuses to go completely away, but everything that’s coming out of Steve’s mouth seems perfectly sincere. More importantly, Steve wouldn’t be _insincere_ to Tony about any of this, because that’s simply not who Steve is. Steve does have a habit of suppressing sometimes, but if he says outright that he doesn’t feel that he’s lacking something in the relationship department, maybe Tony should just… believe him.

But what were those moments between them that Tony noticed? Did he really just misinterpret then? Maybe Steve did start to feel something, but the Pepper mention was a wake-up call. The fact remains that Tony very firmly doesn’t want Steve’s misplaced affections, whatever they are or were or might be, and he needs to be sure that he’s killed that line dead.

“Okay, I’m taking this with me,” Steve stands up and raises the coffee mug in his hands, “but let me know if you need anything. Dolphin me, if you want.”

Tony chokes. “What?”

“Dolphin,” Steve says, as though the word doesn’t sound completely ridiculous in his mouth. “Or don’t?” He frowns at Tony’s bewildered face. “Nothing’s changed, as far as I can tell.”

“I—what?”

“If you’re not with Pepper, I’d be happy to pick up where we left off.”

Okay, this is evidence, too. There’s no way Steve would want to keep fucking him if he still has feelings. Not after the conversation they just had.

It would be good to be sure, though. Is there a way for Tony to ask without coming off like a dick? _Do you promise never to fall for me, Steve?_ Would he laugh at Tony for thinking it possible? No, Steve would be too polite to laugh, but then he’d know that Tony’s ego is just that huge.

“Why are you surprised?” Steve says. “You know I’ve enjoyed being with you.”

“Yeah, sure, but…”

“I’m not being mercenary, I swear.” Steve’s so handsome when he smiles, and the warmth in his eyes is genuine. Everything about him screams surety and confidence, and it makes Tony feel like he’s going crazy, as though all the worries he’s been carrying about not wanting to hurt Steve came out of nowhere but his own feverish brain.

Maybe it did? Has Tony been overthinking again?

Meanwhile, here’s Steve repeating the old offer, as though it really is that easy. Which it could be, because the longer that Tony looks at him, the more difficult it becomes to remember why it felt so important to be cautious in the first place. Steve knows what he’s doing – he’s _Steve._

“Mercenary,” Tony echoes.

“You know.” Steve coughs. “As if I’m just using you.”

Tony barks a laugh. “Buddy, you wouldn’t know how.” He stops, trying to imagine it for real. “What the hell would that be like? You using _me_ for sex.”

Steve seems to think it over seriously. “Not very fun, I’d think.”

“Arguable,” Tony says with a grin. Steve makes a face as though to disagree, and it’s a wonderful reminder on why Tony likes Steve as much as he does.

Hot on the heels of that thought is the reminder of how attractive Steve is. Want rushes through Tony, simple and sparkling, making him gasp. He would’ve been fine with losing access to Steve – it’d be a shame, but not insurmountable – but now that Steve’s within reach and so very touchable… Tony can’t stand it.

Tony puts his coffee away and takes the handful of long strides needed to reach Steve. As for Steve, he sees what’s coming and puts his mug down so his hands are free to grip Tony’s waist when Tony kisses him. Their mouths move against each other while closed, then open, and then Steve’s hands are in Tony’s hair while Tony pushes Steve towards the closest work bench. A rush of air grunts out Steve’s mouth at the impact against his back, but then he’s moaning softly when Tony pushes a thigh between Steve’s.

“Not your room?” Steve says thickly against Tony’s cheek. He’s so warm, and his neck smells so good. “My room?”

“Nah,” Tony says.

“I thought the workshop was off-limits?”

“Making an exception today.” Steve’s belt buckle opens quickly under Tony’s hands. “JARVIS, blackout mode please? Thanks.”

* * *

“Okay, I know it’s early,” Sam says, “but I need to run this by you. I was thinking of taking Steve to a ballgame, but I’m not going to do that if you already have something similar in the works.”

“You lost me at ‘early’,” Tony says.

The team’s having a late lunch gathering on the roof of the Tower – some friends and family are invited, but it’s smaller and less fancy than their other get-togethers. There’s probably an occasion for it, but since there are no banners and no presents are being exchanged, Tony’s not fussed about not knowing what it is. He’s mostly been sitting on a lounge chair getting some rays in between chatter and eating anything that anyone hands his way.

At some point Sam joined him by sitting in the neighboring lounge chair, though he’s sitting upright instead of properly lounging, which Tony is doing because he knows what’s what. Sam has his own plate, filled up high with the spoils of the pot luck, and after some shop talk on the latest flight and radar tech, he apparently decided to swerve into a mention of Steve.

“Steve’s birthday,” Sam clarifies. He steals a quick sideways glance, double-checking that Steve is way out of earshot, which he is. “Yes, I know it’s early, and yes, I know planning anything with y’all can be an exercise in futility, but call me optimist. Are you taking him to a game any time soon or what?”

Tony has a pair of shades on, and lowers it incrementally so he can peer over the frames. “No, I am not taking Steve to a game, and even if I were, you should do whatever the hell you want. Why are you even asking me?”

“Because I’m thoughtful,” Sam replies. “Wouldn’t want to step on your toes; ruin an anniversary or whatever.”

“Anniversary?”

“They have been known to exist.”

“We’re not…” From the corner of Tony’s eye, he catches Steve turning in their direction and quickly schools his face with casual small-talk friendliness. “We’re not like that, what the hell.”

Sam raises a hand defensively. “All right.”

“We’re not. Wherever you’re getting that information, it’s faulty.”

“Mmm, okay. So, you like each other, you like spending time together, you’re sleeping together, and neither of you are interested in seeing anyone else.” Sam hums thoughtfully. “How long has this been going on again?”

“Hold your horses,” Tony says, trying for belligerent instead of defensive. Hearing it all laid out like that does sound a bit much, but that’s only because Sam is missing context. Important context, which Tony knows very well and is somewhat difficult to explain under the light of day to someone he doesn’t know very well.

“Fine, you’re not together. From where I’m standing it sounds like you might as well be, but what do I know.”

“Why, did Steve say something to you?”

“Oh please,” Sam scoffs. “Getting anything out of that guy is like pulling teeth.”

“What?”

“Teeth pulling, with the pliers. Which would probably be extra difficult, since he’s a super soldier and all. ‘How you feeling, Steve?’ ‘Fine’. He’s always fine, forever fine, always looking out to ease other people’s hurt instead of even thinking about his own.” Sam laughs when he sees Tony’s face. “There we go, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

It’s a beautiful day, with the sun shining and the skies clear. It feels like the biggest killjoy in the world to let this conversation run its course, but it seems that Sam is serious. As in he may be joking, but he’s also serious.

A part of Tony yells at him to let it go, because he and Steve have finally gotten their momentum back, and it’d be stupid to do anything that’d jeopardize it. But the rest of him needs to know, and it now compels him to lean towards Sam and say quietly, “Steve is okay right now, though, right? I mean, he’s… he has you, right?”

“He has me what?”

“I don’t _know_ him.” Tony swallows, surprised and embarrassed by the truth of it. He doesn’t know Sam that well, and does not at all like the sensation of being caught. But it feels freeing, sort of, to be able to tell him what he knows he can’t to the others in the team. “I don’t really know him, the way you do. The way Natasha does. I mean, that’s the real reason why me and him, we’re not… like that. We can’t be.”

“Oh.” Sam sits back, surprised. There’s newness in how he looks at Tony next, as though he hadn’t expected this. “Guy’s great, I love him, would fight at his back any day. But he’s wound tight. Only lets you in so far, which is his right, of course.”

“But not with _you_ , come on,” Tony presses.

“It’s not my place to say,” Sam says slowly, “but sometimes it’s just easier to keep people at a distance. Do it long enough, it becomes a habit.”

“Not Steve. That’s what people like me get up to. Look at how much Steve gives to everyone around him.”

“Give, yes. But take? That’s another question, isn’t it.”

Tony takes another glance past Sam’s shoulder. Steve is now in conversation with Clint and Maria, and is looking dubiously at the ridiculously stacked burger that someone has put into his hands. It’s perfectly clear that he’s enjoying himself, and he seems to be content to be here, living with and leading the Avengers. He has real connections with people – not Tony, obviously – but with the others, doesn’t he? Isn’t that what he’s spent this past year doing? It’s not all just about the work, right?

“You do try, though?” Tony says hopefully.

“For sure. I think I’m doing okay.” Sam grins. “Guy’s a great wingman for a wingman, but he seems more at ease when we’re on a case.”

“You should take him to that game. An earlier one, too, just because you can. Or an art gallery, I think he’d be really into that. Even if he’s already been, he should go with you, specifically.”

“Wouldn’t you want to do that? Or does that count as something you don’t do?”

“The second one.” Tony sinks back into his chair and exhales. “Sorry for being a dick.”

“Nah, you’re just worried ‘bout the guy,” Sam says.

“Uh, he really hasn’t said anything about me? I mean, we’re pretty clear on where we stand with each other, but he’s not – he didn’t say anything about wanting…”

Sam meets Tony’s gaze evenly. “Like pulling teeth. He barely talks about you at all, if it’s not Avengers-related.”

“Oh. I mean, that’s good.” Tony’s just imagining the sting in his chest. “Exactly as it should be.”

Sam hums neutrally. “Are you going to eat that?”

“Yes, I’m just pacing myself, thank you. The sausages are great.”

“You’re kidding me, you like these? I can make better in my sleep.”

“Then you should have made some in your sleep and brought them, shouldn’t you?”

“Okay, fighting words, I hear you.”

* * *

The team gets into a case investigating a magnetic anomaly up north. SHIELD detected the anomaly first, and after losing contact with two agents in their recon, calls in the Avengers for help.

As missions sometimes go, what started out as a cautious investigation goes sideways on a dime. Tempers fray, arguments are had, and twelve hours after what should have been their getaway, there’s a neck-and-neck in trying to decide what the next step of action should be.

“I’m going in,” Clint says. He pushes for the bay doors, but is blocked by Thor and Tony. “Get out of my way.”

“These villains are toying with magic that they don’t understand,” Thor says. “We must not make the same mistake.”

“Natasha knew the risks,” Tony says. “She’d want us to get a hold of the situation from where we are.”

Clint grits his teeth. “Look, if you’re both too scared—”

“I’ll go,” Steve says. Clint starts to protest, but Steve continues, “Assuming it’s just the cold and low atmosphere, I can take that better than you. Bruce?”

“Her life-signs are holding strong,” Bruce says from his station. “It’s just her location that’s all over the place.”

“I don’t agree with this course,” Thor says. “An hour, that’s all I need.”

“You take that hour,” Steve says. “Go, get your intel. If you’re not back by the time I’ve reached the magnetic horizon, I’m going in.”

Thor’s clearly displeased about it, but concedes that urgency compels them. He heads down for the bay doors, which are opened only long enough to let Thor fly out into the snow-covered landscape. Then it’s just the four of them: Clint helps Steve gear up for his heading out, and Tony goes to check in with Bruce.

“Thor knows it should be him going in,” Clint says.

“He does,” Steve agrees. “That’s why we have to trust that he comes through with his contact.”

“When’s the next wave coming?” Tony says.

“If the patterns hold, sixteen minutes,” Bruce says.

Tony looks over at his suit, still in its stand, thinking quickly through possible upgrades he can make on the spot. If they lose contact with Steve the way they did with Natasha, he’s next in line to go in, and he needs to make it count. Especially since the field’s wrecked haywire with some, but not all, tech that’s passed through it.

“No, not that one.” Tony grabs the full-face oxygen mask from its place, and hands it over to Clint to switch it out for the basic one that Steve’s put on.

“Visual’s limited in this,” Steve says.

“There’s a HUD option,” Tony says. “New thing, let me show you.”

“New thing,” Steve says, dry and amused. “We haven’t covered that in training.”

“Hey, it’s Natasha’s idea,” Tony says. “Still a work in progress.”

There’s a limited amount of gear that Steve can take with him, and most of it has to be first aid and survival equipment for Natasha and the two agents inside the anomaly. It’s up to Steve to decide what to bring with him, so he goes through his pockets while staring at his shield grimly, trying to decide if it’s worthwhile to bring it or not.

Among the items that Steve hands over to Clint to put aside is a compass. Tony rolls his eyes and grabs it from the pile, because even with a working HUD, it would still be safer for Steve to have one on him.

As Tony grabs the compass, he clicks it open.

There’s no conscious reason for him to open it, other than the basic human compulsion to open anything you’re holding. It’s only as he clicks the button, in the half-second it takes for the lid to pop open he realizes that this is a _compass_ , and that according to the old newsreels that Tony grew up with, Steve had a compass with a distinct, personal touch.

There’s no photo of inside this one.

Tony lets out a quick huff of relief, glad to not have embarrassed himself. He turns, ready to return to Steve, when he realizes that there’s something inside the upper lid. It wasn’t obvious because it’s a similar dark color as the case itself, but it catches the light differently, revealing itself to soft material. Tony rubs a thumb against it idly, and immediately knows what it is.

He knows this texture, because he’s picky about the kinds of shirts he wears. This piece in particular is a part of the sleeve he tore off to wrap Steve’s hands, ages ago.

There’s a way to recover from this realization. He could close the compass and give it to Steve, pretending that he doesn’t recognize what’s inside it. But the realization is so huge, so massive, so _what the fuck_ , that Tony can only stare at the compass in shock.

Steve used to keep a photo of Peggy Carter here.

Tony looks up. Steve, he of the facial control handsomeness that would make any model weep, looks terrified.

“Safe.” Tony hands over the compass without looking, and it would’ve dropped if Steve didn’t catch it quickly. “To be safe, in case… HUD.”

“Right,” Steve says, a second too slow. “Sure.”

Tony quickly heads back to Bruce’s station, face burning and feeling stupid.

He’d put all the effort into worrying and second-guessing and double-backing on his own theories, when all he’d needed to do was look for a token. Not an _obvious_ one, because Steve’s too smart for that, but one with meaning inherent in its very existence.

What did Steve tell him before? He said that he’s not interested in that kind of relationship, and that’s why he hasn’t been looking for one. He said that no longer wants the same things that he once did. He was also genuinely invested in the possibility of Tony going back to Pepper. Overlaying all of this is the implication – and Tony believed it – that their hook-ups, though regular, would never turn into anything else, and that was exactly what Steve wanted.

How does that square with Steve keeping a fucking Tony-related token on him?

“Five minutes, Cap,” Bruce says.

“Just about ready.” Steve has the full oxygen mask on now, which allows him to look at Tony all he wants, while Tony can only be safe if he keeps his eyes firmly on the computer screens.

Steve starts to move towards the bay doors, but pauses near the computers. “You got a clean lock on me?”

“Yeah, for now,” Bruce says.

Steve hesitates. “Tony?”

“What,” Tony snaps.

“You should suit up,” Steve says. “Thor’ll be back soon and—”

Tony moves away to his suit set-up. He steps inside the boots, prompting the armor to lock in from the boots upward. It’s usually one of the coolest things in the world, but right now it’s completely ruined by Steve’s following him. The guy comes to stand in front of Tony, only his eyes visible through the oxygen mask, and they are on Tony’s face, bold and clear.

There have been a number of times in their short-ish acquaintance where Tony’s been aggravatingly unable to understand Steve. There’s a massive blank spot in Tony’s knowledge of Steve, and he’d been okay with that because he didn’t need to know more than he already did. But over time he became conscious that there was never any way that he _could_ fully understand Steve, because the guy keeps his feelings so close to his chest and finds tricky ways to get around the truth without actually lying.

Steve loves him. Or something like it. The idea feels so nonsensical that the only way Tony can make sense of it is to assume that Steve is in love with an _ideal_ of Tony, instead of who he actually is, but that doesn’t seem like the kind of fallacy that Steve would let himself be victim to. Steve wouldn’t keep a physical piece that represents an unthinking gesture of Tony’s, for the sake of a fucking fallacy.

“Tony,” Steve says quietly, “I just—”

“I don’t know what you’re playing,” Tony hisses, “but if you’ve been making me complicit in some stupid masochistic arrangement you’ve figured out for yourself, I don’t want any part of it.”

Steve’s double-take is visible through the heavy layers of his snow suit. “What—”

“Your punching bag routine, right? You go at it until you bleed, except I guess you’ve found another way to hurt yourself.”

“God, no,” Steve says, sounding horrified. “Tony no, it’s not like that.”

“You’re telling me that you’re _not_ punishing yourself by letting me fuck you, even though I don’t…” Tony trails off, too nauseous to spell it out. “What else would you call it?”

Steve glances at his watch. Over Steve’s shoulder, Bruce says, “One minute, it’s go-time guys.”

“Go,” Tony says loudly. “It’s hero time, Cap.”

“Comms open, ears open,” Steve says, back to business. He does one last check of his mask and nods back at Clint to open the bay doors. “Bruce, give me a countdown.”

“Good luck,” Clint calls out.

Tony doesn’t say anything, and just watches as Steve disappears into the now rising snowstorm.

* * *

What follows isn’t an entirely fun sequence of events. Being a superhero does have its excitement, for sure, but other times it’s all about the stress and fear and anger, and the frantic clamoring for solutions when the stakes are high.

The anomaly is not artifact-induced, but man-made – that is what Thor tells them once he returns to the Quinjet. There’s an enemy to be fought, and the team has been split in two: Steve and Natasha inside, and the rest of them outside. Communication is spotty and the snow is fucking annoying.

The Iron Man suit can withstand snow and ice, but Tony’s actions are limited by his reluctance to enter the anomaly unless it’d make a direct difference. This is Thor’s turf, and in this mission they get a glimpse of the types of battles that Thor’s shared many an embellished tale about.

Compounding this general stress is the more specific stress at the back of Tony’s mind. As he steers avalanches and builds snowbanks, Tony’s calculations of wind and force and inertia are intertwined with mathematical contemplations of Steve.

Steve, who secretly touched Tony, probably more than once, and with such tenderness that Tony had preferred to assume it a trick of his mind. Steve, usually so poised and resolute, except the occasions when raw emotion bleeds through – horror, guilt, and that aching softness Tony saw over Christmas.

“ _Thor’s engaged with the warlock_ ,” Natasha says. “ _The field’s broken, can you guys get in_?”

“ _Yep,_ ” Clint says. “ _The ‘jet is up and on the way. Everyone back on radar, five by five._ ”

“I’m closing in on our Jolly Green,” Tony says.

“ _Manning’s not looking too good,_ ” Steve says. “ _Barton, follow the flare._ ”

“ _Got it_ ,” Clint says.

Close calls are typical in their missions, too. They never really get easier; experience just means that Tony knows how far he can push himself based on what he’s accomplished before, and this time he gets to push himself a little further.

“ _Manning and Philips are on board_ ,” Clint says. “ _Mostly frozen, but on board_.”

“ _Not Steve?_ ” Natasha says.

“I can see Steve on the read,” Tony says. “But he’s not moving.”

“ _Philips says he fell into a crevasse, before that last explosion_ ,” Clint says.

“On it,” Tony says. “JARVIS, draw that out for me.”

In theory, Tony should be able to dig a tunnel through the snow to get to Steve. But Thor’s one-on-one is still going on, sending wave upon fresh wave of snow and ice upon them, and every time Tony thinks he’s got a lock, he has to take evasive maneuvers and start again.

“ _I’m here_ ,” Steve says. Tony allows himself a second to be relieved that he’s regained consciousness, wherever he is. “ _Don’t have much mobility. Visual, either_.”

Because he’s buried alive.

“Clint, get those engines here, we need to redirect the ice,” Tony says. “JARVIS, what’s Steve’s oxygen looking like?”

“ _Unless his oxygen tank is damaged, he should have enough for at least another hour_ ,” JARVIS says. “ _It’s the crushing pressure that’s critical, sir_.”

Tony keeps his head down and works. There’s other noise on comms as Thor and Natasha share battle banter as they handle the Snow Magic Dude, with occasional interjecting roars from the Hulk.

“ _It’s getting pretty heavy down here_ ,” Steve says. “ _Uh. Tony._ ” He waits. “ _Tony_?”

Tony keeps blasting at snow.

“ _Tony, I don’t want this to leave things on a—”_

“Are you giving up?” Tony says shortly.

There’s so much noise everywhere that Tony could’ve missed Steve’s sharp intake of breath.

“ _No_ ,” Steve says.

“Then don’t give up,” Tony says.

“ _Sir_ ,” JARVIS says. “ _Even with Captain Rogers’ enhanced strength, the accumulative force of the packed—”_

“Just keep showing me access points,” Tony snaps.

Tony’s anger narrows into a tight ball. There is only here and now, and the goal right in front of him. Steve’s tough, he can hold on, he’s been through worse than this.

At some previous point Steve must have switched his mic off, because when he switches it back on Tony can hear labored breathing through comms. “ _Tony, I need to tell you_ —”

“Please,” Tony says. He meant it to be sharp and scolding, but it comes out shaky instead. He swallows and tries again, but his throat refuses to cooperate, letting out a choked, “Please, Steve.”

There’s a long moment where Steve doesn’t respond, though there’s no telling whether it’s because he can’t, or because he doesn’t know what to say. When he finally does speak, his voice is gentle. “ _Okay, Tony._ ”

That’s even worse, because it’s the way that Steve talks to people – civilians, mostly – when the chips are down. _It’ll be okay_ , he says, even though he has no fucking way of knowing whether it will be or not. It’s a promise that he can’t keep, but he keeps making it anyway.

There’s a faint click, and Tony says, “JARVIS, did Steve turn off his mic?”

“ _Yes, sir_.”

Tony swallows. “But his comms are still open?”

“ _That’s right, sir_.”

“Clint, get the ‘jet facing leeward,” Tony says. “I’m going to dive in at an angle, need you to cover ‘em.”

“ _Tony, you’re just going to get buried yourself_ ,” Clint says. “ _That’s not—_ ”

“Shut up and get the ‘jet in position,” Tony snaps. “JARVIS, cross-section on visual on Steve’s location. I’ve got one shot.”

Tony backs up, readying himself. The snow’s slowed down, giving him a route to work with, but it’s still moving too fast. Clint’s right, Tony won’t get more than twenty to twenty-five feet, well above the crevasse, but maybe something’ll come to him as he lands? It doesn’t matter anyway; Tony has to try because Steve’s inside there, holding on.

Then Thor comes streaming through the air, roaring on comms, “ _Stark, out of the way!_ ”

Tony banks to the side as Thor brings the hammer down onto the snow.

* * *

Steve is unconscious when they finally dig him out of the snow. They warm him up quickly on the Quinjet, but he stays unconscious for the whole flight back the Tower.

Tony plays his part and focuses on the tasks at hand, i.e. splintering what they can, getting his heart pumping properly again, and making sure that he has all the blankets and heating packs that he needs. He honestly thinks he’s handling it really well – thought what _it_ is, he’s not sure, since his brain feels like a big thorny mess – up until Bruce puts an arm around him to pull him away from Steve’s side.

“He’ll be okay,” Bruce says. “You might want to sit down and get a warm drink in you, too.”

“I’m f—” Tony cuts off the _fine_ , which is a stupid reminder of Steve. “Okay, yeah, drink.” He looks down at his hands, which are slightly blue from the cold, because there are limits even for the suit’s internal heating. Though that just lands another memory in his head, bright and vivid, of Steve’s bloodied hands ripping Tony’s suit apart to get him free. Something something, poetry.

“He will be okay, though,” Tony says. “’Cause he’s Steve.”

“Because he’s Steve,” Bruce agrees.

Bruce sits with Tony for a while, and doesn’t say anything when Tony puts his face in his hands.

Tony’s a dumbass, but he’s pretty sure it’s not supposed to hit this hard. It’s _never_ hit this hard, and they’ve had closer calls than this before.

This is exactly what Pepper used to complain about, isn’t it? This is what it felt to be on the other side, feeling helpless and hating it. The universe has decided that it’s time for Tony to have a turn, and all that that implies.

Fucking dammit.

The next 24-ish hours are something of a blur. Tony sees Steve off to medical, but doesn’t stay. He opts instead to have JARVIS inform him of any updates, and accesses Cho’s monitoring camera when he has the hankering to see Steve for himself. There are other things to do, after all – the debrief with Natasha, and post-battle analysis in upgrading all hardware for the next mission that may have similar conditions.

Two days after their return to the Tower, Natasha shows up at the workshop.

They have some small talk, nothing heavy. But Tony knows what a warm-up is, and is not surprised when she turns the conversation.

“Steve’s awake,” she says.

“I am aware,” Tony says.

“You’re not going to see him?”

“I’m thinking that’s only going to lead to an argument, and I don’t think that’s good for him right now.”

Natasha leans against a workbench and nods. “You’re probably right for both.”

“You’ve already seen him, of course.”

“Yep, he’s reading the news, writing reports, the usual.” Natasha smiles at Tony’s scowl. “Why, does that bother you?”

“He almost got _frozen_ ,” Tony says. “Okay, the immediate threat was being crushed alive, but the cold was a big freaking’ part of it. You’re telling me he’s not shaken up by that?”

“The thing about Steve is that he’s decided that his problems are _his_ problems, and not to be burdened upon other people. Because who he is, as a person, is secondary to the job that he needs to do. He’s like you that way.”

Tony sputters. “I – I’m not – that’s nothing like—”

“You go about it in different ways, but it’s the same notion.”

“Which is why it’s an awful an idea. Me and him, that is.”

Natasha rolls his eyes. “You say that like it’d the two of you would be locked up in a bubble. The rest of us are here, too, right? Isn’t the whole idea of a team that we try to bring out the best in each other?”

“You cannot be saying that I should date Steve for the sake for the team,” Tony says flatly.

“You made that leap, not me. _I’m_ saying that you should just go see Steve right now. Say hi. Ask him they’re feeding him well.”

Natasha comes over, seemingly to pat Tony on the shoulder, but she swerves at the last moment and flicks his ear. It’s so unexpected that Tony jumps, and the leap in his chest feels like the first thing to knock him out of the funk he’s been in since they got back from the mission.

“Of course they’re feeding him well,” Tony says. “It’s my building. I’ll… go see him anyway.”

“Take your time.” Natasha goes without a glance back, leaving Tony to the contemplation of his life choices.

He should probably see Steve. The argument _will_ happen, but it’d probably need to happen regardless. The only way that they won’t argue about it is they never ever talk about what happened out there, and what’s been happening in _here_ for the past few months.

Tony takes a deep breath. He’s never needed a plan before, and he doesn’t need one now.

He goes to the medical floor, waves a hi at Cho, and makes his way to Steve’s room. Steve’s sitting up, a tablet in his hands, and he turns towards the door, clearly expecting anyone but Tony. Surprise makes him stiffen up.

Tony sits in the chair next to the bed. He takes in Steve’s general appearance: he looks good, his bandages have been changed, and he doesn’t seem to have problems sitting up so his ribs must have healed by now. Steve’s studying him in return, and Tony knows he looks good, too – no eye bags for him, thanks, he knows how prevent those even as he tossed and turned last night thinking about how close that came and how cold the fucking universe felt at the mere possibility that Tony would not have Steve in his life anymore.

The silence in the room congeals.

Tony should probably say something, but nothing obvious and charming immediately leaps to mind. Steve’s awkwardness melts away the longer he looks at Tony, replaced by that a subtle drooping misery – as much as Steve can droop, anyway – that must be a mirror of Tony’s general being.

Tony moves a hand instead, lifting it in jerky motions until he places it on top of Steve’s forearm. Steve is blessedly, blissfully warm, and the sheer relief knowing of that makes Tony lean forward, all the way, until he can rest his forehead on Steve’s chest. But lightly, because ribs, etc.

Like this, Tony can feel the rise and fall of Steve’s chest with each breath. Tony lets out long, tremulous exhale that seems to go on forever.

One of Steve’s hands tentatively brushes the back of Tony’s head. Tony sighs, and the touch becomes less tentative, the fingers stroking through the hair there.

What does Tony want to accomplish exactly? A peace treaty, perhaps.

Tony sits back up. Steve retracts his hand. They look at each other.

“I lied about Pepper,” Tony says. “There was never any dinner in the first place, when I brought her up, the other day.”

Steve was clearly not expecting that, though there’s no reason why he would. “Why did you, then?”

“I was getting a vibe that you were, uh. Growing attached. To me.”

Steve swallows, and does not deny it.

“So,” Tony continues, “I thought that if I said that, you’d back off. I guess.”

Steve nods slowly, as though that was an understandable thing for Tony to do. “Don’t worry about that, it’s going to be okay—”

“Stop saying it’s going to be okay! It’s not okay, it can’t be okay, I can’t un _know_ what I know about you.”

“This is exactly why I wasn’t going to say anything—”

“Don’t you dare blame me for that, you asshole. You weren’t going to say anything because you _don’t_ say anything, about how you really feel. The good, the bad, the angry—”

“Because when I do, people get hurt,” Steve snaps. “The first goddamned thing I did when we met was bite your head off, because I… because.” He swallows, his whole body tight with tension. “I could’ve ruined a good thing before it even started, because I couldn’t control myself.”

“You just lost everything you ever knew!” Tony yells. “If anyone’s entitled to be angry, it’s you, come on. You had your reasons, I was just a prick, we’re not the same.”

Steve sighs loudly. “Tony.”

“What, did you decide that you’re just going to coast through the rest of your life like this, never really feeling anything or letting anything touch you as though…” Tony trails off at the realization. “As though this isn’t your life at all. You’re just existing for the next job, the next mission. What are you, a ghost? Just haunting us until it’s time to move on?”

Steve turns away, his face contorted in a painful scowl. Time stretches, until Steve says, so faintly, “Sometimes it feels like it.”

It’s Steve’s hurt, but it’s Tony who gasps. His lungs tighten around the choked breath, and the breadth of how ill-equipped he is to handle this presses down on him.

“Tony,” Steve says quietly.

“Fuck.” Tony rubs a hand over his face. “You can dance your sadness conga however you want, it’s none of my business. Just don’t make me part of it.”

“You’re not.”

“Don’t lie to me, okay? You have mushy feelings about me.” Steve flinches, which is all the confirmation Tony needs. “Hell if I know why, but I do know that staying physically close to me the way that you have, that’s like some freaking hairshirt situation—”

“You’re wrong,” Steve says firmly. “I wasn’t using it as a way to punish myself. When I realized I was falling for you, it was just a bonus. A _wonderful_ bonus, and it gave me something to look forward to every day. And I thought it was okay to feel that way, because _you_ didn’t want anything more, and _I_ couldn’t handle anything more. It was perfect.”

“Perfect,” Tony says dryly. “Easy. No deeper attachment. No hurt feelings.”

Steve deflates a little. “Yes.”

“Well, look at me. Do I look unaffected to you?”

“I didn’t mean to. Obviously you were never going to reciprocate, because you’d never see me that way—”

“That’s what you thought. So now what are you going to do?” Tony takes Steve’s hand in his. He realizes that his own hands are clammy, and Steve’s are dry, but the guy’s just going to have to deal. “What are you going to do, Steve?”

“I… don’t know.”

“Geez.” Tony’s trembling, as though from the force of his own feelings, pounding hard in his chest. “Why did it have to be me? I can’t be what you need, but now I’m going to have to fucking try.”

“Tony, I…” Steve seems genuinely gobsmacked.

“It’s going to be hard and I’ll get it wrong a lot of the time, and I don’t know about you, but I know _me_ , and I fall hard. I’m halfway there and it’s going to be a hell of a time scraping you out of me when you’re done, so that’s going to hurt. A lot.” Panic grips Tony at the thought of Steve gone, and he releases Steve’s hand in his fumbling to stand up. “If you still really truly don’t want any of it, then you should just put me out of my misery right now—”

“Don’t go,” Steve says.

Tony looks at him in shock. He’s never heard that kind of raw emotion in Steve’s voice before, or seen its follow-up of a colored flush in Steve’s face. Embarrassment – or is that shame? – draws Steve’s face tight, but he doesn’t take it back.

That’s new, isn’t it. Tony sits down.

Steve swallows. “Thank you.” His face goes even pinker as he works himself up to what he says next: “Stay? If you don’t mind?”

“Sure,” Tony says distantly. His heart’s going really loud in his chest, but he keeps his voice level. “That’s fine. I’m not busy right now.”

“Good. Neither am I. Well. I’m not supposed to be, so I’m not.” Tony huffs a laugh, and gets a rueful smile from Steve in return. “I don’t know how to do this,” Steve admits.

“Has that ever stopped you before? When it really matters?”

Steve shrugs. The uncertainty doesn’t become him at all and he probably knows it; that’s probably among the many reasons he doesn’t let people see it. Goodness knows that Tony’s familiar with the compulsion.

In that vein thank goodness that Tony is fucking contrarian when he wants to be. He doesn’t know how do this either, let alone with someone like Steve, but it _has_ to be only marginally more difficult that trying to save the world, right? And if Tony’s throwing all he has into that, then he can do this, too.

Tony takes Steve hand back between his. He holds Steve’s eye as he does, and is very deliberate in twining their fingers together. Steve’s dart up in surprise, and the small, impressed smile that follows immediately loosens the bands around Tony’s chest.

“Do I get a kiss?” Steve clears his throat. “I’m injured, after all. It would be nice.”

“Sure,” Tony says dryly. “You can get a kiss.”

“Then dinner, I assume. When I get discharged.”

“Whoa look at you, just leaping ahead without looking.” Tony shakes his head, and leans forward to give Steve his kiss.

Steve’s eyes drift shut, and he sighs at the first press of Tony’s lips against his. They move slow and easy, free of urgency and interest in deepening the kiss beyond its light exploration. Steve’s fingers come up to Tony’s face, the thumb and fingertips framing the shape of Tony’s cheek, the gentleness as recognizable as a fingerprint.

_Something to look forward to_ , Steve said. So that’s what Tony’s been feeling all these months, how about that.

Yeah, they can figure this out.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr post!](https://no-gorms.tumblr.com/post/642011089892196352/fic-1-for-marvel-trumps-hate-2020-compass)
> 
> I tried to do as much as possible from the original prompt, which includes:
> 
>   * Character study of Steve through Tony's POV;
>   * Steve's isolation and difficulty in opening up;
>   * Friends with benefits where they fall into bed together;
>   * Steve falls in love first;
>   * Tony notices that Steve's falling for him, while he himself falls for Steve later.
> 

> 
> Thanks for reading ♥


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